


Six Days In June

by Kahtya Sofia (KahtyaSofia)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Reality, Historical, Homophobic Language, Long, M/M, Military, Plotty, WarBigBang 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:38:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 80,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KahtyaSofia/pseuds/Kahtya%20Sofia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lieutenant Nate Fick is a UN military observer in Jerusalem. Staff Sergeant Brad Colbert is a peacekeeper waiting to be transfered to Egypt. Together they're caught up in the events of the Third Arab-Israeli War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork: vertrauen's [fan mix and artwork can be found here](http://zellersee.livejournal.com/20340.html) This is a fantasic mix and cover. The cover art really reflects the era. It features a beautiful photo of Government House itself, taken during the era. The mix includes Jerusalem of Gold. While most will know it from Schindler's list, it was actually the song sung in celebration at the end of this conflict. Her work reflects, not only this story, but the time events themselves.
> 
> Beta: Shoshannagold. With any luck, our friendship survived the experience. As always, though, she demanded perfection and the fic is better for it.
> 
> The title is a nod to the following films:  
> [Seven Days In May](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0058576/)  
> [One Day In September](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0230591/)  
> [Thirteen Days](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0146309/)
> 
> This fic exists because of cala_jane and shoshannagold. Thank you to everyone on the combat_jack fic finishing fest and the ficfinishing comm. This is the single most involved and complicated fic I've ever written, and I don't plan on repeating the experience any time soon.

_  
**Friday, 12 May, 1967**   
_

_  
**United Nations Treaty Supervision Organization Headquarters, Jerusalem**   
_

  


The second Nate stepped into HQ, somebody called out for him.

There was only one person in the offices used by the United Nations Treaty Supervision Organization who had that particular way of speaking.

Nate promptly presented himself in the doorway of an anteroom. “Yes, sir.”

Captain Bryan Patterson, his CO, glanced up at him with a knowing smile. “I still need that summary of your meeting.”

Patterson, radio call sign Assassin, was the Sector Commander for UNTSO in Jerusalem and Nate’s direct superior. He wasn’t just Nate’s boss: he oversaw all the United Nations military observers patrolling Jerusalem and the West Bank. No small job, these days.

“I know, sir,” Nate assured him. “I haven’t forgotten. The city is just a little unsettled and I’ve had my hands full.”

“All the military observers in Jerusalem have their hands full,” Patterson rebuked him gently, “yet they’ve managed to get their reports in to me.”

“With respect, Captain, you haven’t sent the other MOs to meet with Israeli officials.”

“All the more reason why I need your report, Lieutenant,” Patterson replied. “General Bull needs the information and it may have a bearing on future Security Council resolutions.”

General Odd Bull, who had risen to the rank of Chief of Air Staff in the Norwegian Royal Air Force, had been the UNTSO Chief of Staff, and the UN’s chief diplomat in Israel, since 1963. He was not an imposing man but his intelligence and soft-spoken manner commanded Nate’s respect.

“You could discipline me by sending me to the Sinai or Gaza as an observer.” Nate knew his hope of being sent to Egypt was futile, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

Patterson smiled at him knowingly. “I know you think all the important work is being done in Egypt and around the Gaza Strip, Nate, but if tensions keep rising in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem could very well erupt in violence.”

Yes, sir. I know, sir,” Nate capitulated. “Permission to delay my departure for today’s patrol in order to complete my report?”

Patterson shook his head, amused. “Granted. But only because _you_ can actually get the fucking thing written in a timely manner. If McGraw tried that shit, he’d never make it out for patrol.”

Nate grinned. “I’ll have it to you ASAP, sir.”

He was striding through the high-ceilinged, yellow-stone walled Government House great room, on his way to the communal office all MOs used for paperwork, when another Marine entered from the opposite direction. Nate’s step faltered momentarily.

Dressed in his olive and khaki service uniform, the Marine looked as though he’d stepped straight out of a recruiting poster. He was well over six feet tall; taller than even Nate, who stood a good 6’2”. His shoulders were unbelievably broad and tapered to a narrow waist and hips. His height gave him the longest looking legs Nate thought he’d ever seen.

As the Marine drew closer, Nate was able to assess more thoroughly. He could see the man’s features now. Blond hair, warm and intelligent blue eyes, a generously shaped mouth and – god help Nate – a cleft chin. Nate was a fucking sucker for a cleft chin.

As they drew close enough to one another, Nate could finally make out and Marine’s insignia. His heart sank.

“Staff Sergeant?” he greeted. Nate told himself not to be disappointed that fraternization rules would prevent him from becoming better acquainted with this handsome Marine. Odds were the Staff Sergeant wasn’t even queer. Nate wasn’t interested in a hook-up with a situational queen.

“Colbert, sir,” he provided, snapping to attention with a salute as soon as he saw the bars on the collar of Nate’s olive-drab uniform blouse. “Staff Sergeant Brad Colbert.”

Nate returned the salute and stuck out his hand for Brad to shake. There was no need to stand on ceremony. As an NCO, Brad wouldn’t be staying long in Jerusalem. His assignment would undoubtedly be with UNEF – United Nations Emergency Force – helping to keep the peace in the Sinai.

“Lieutenant Nathaniel Fick,” he said, enjoying Colbert’s firm handshake.

“Thank you, sir,” Colbert replied, inclining his head slightly. “I need to report in and receive my billeting assignment. You wouldn’t happen to know where I need to go?” He shifted the duffel that was thrown over his shoulder, turning his barracks cover in his hands almost nervously.

“Government House is much like Jerusalem itself; very old and very confusing.” Nate gestured in the direction he’d originally been walking. “The UNEF admin offices are this way. I’m heading that direction anyway, I’m happy to take you.”

The Staff Sergeant seemed grateful as he fell into step beside Nate, his dress shoes clicking sharply on the stone floor. Nate almost felt awkward as his own black combat boots thudded dully with each step.

“Interrogative, sir; are you assigned to UNTSO or UNEF?” Colbert asked, still fidgeting with his cover.

“I’m a military observer with UNTSO,” Nate replied.

“Do you patrol here in Jerusalem or the West Bank?”

“Here in Jerusalem,” Nate said with a sigh. “I have a degree in International Relations and I speak Hebrew and Arabic, so General Bull utilizes me as an informal liaison with the GOI.”

“GOI, sir?”

“Government of Israel,” Nate explained. “We do love our acronyms around here.”

The Staff Sergeant smiled and Nate nearly choked on his breath. Colbert had the most charming overbite.

“They provided us with a cheat sheet but that wasn’t on the list,” the Staff Sergeant explained.

“It’s colloquial,” Nate said conspiratorially. After a few moments of silence, Nate remarked, “Kind of a tense time to be reporting for duty in the Sinai.”

“Isn’t it always a tense time to be patrolling the Egypt-Israel border?” Brad asked. “There are over three thousand international troops stationed on a hundred and sixty-four mile frontier. It’s been a powder keg since 1948.”

“Still, things haven’t been quite this tense since the GOI worked with the Brits and the French to oust Nasser in ’56,” Nate replied.

“If only they’d succeeded. It won’t get better as long as Nasser remains in power,” Brad said.

Nate glanced at him in surprise. As difficult as it was, their positions with the U.N. mandated they at least attempt to be neutral.

“Don’t forget Jordan,” Nate cautioned. “They bore the brunt of all the Palestinian refugees who were forced out in ’49 and they actually have troops stationed here in Jerusalem.”

They reached a doorway with a sign that read, “United Nations Emergency Force”. Nate gestured for Colbert to follow him in.

“’Morning, Lieutenant,” Gunnery Sergeant Wynn greeted.

Nate quickly returned the salute. “’Morning, Mike. I found one of yours wandering the corridors.”

“Staff Sergeant,” Mike greeted. “You must be Colbert.”

“Affirmative, Gunny,” Colbert confirmed.

“Your Platoon Commander is very pleased you’re coming,” Mike said, rummaging through a stack of papers on the desk in front of him. “He’s been without a solid Squad Leader for quite some time and with the way tensions are rising out there, you’re very much needed.”

“Honored to be here,” Colbert said, taking the packet of paperwork Wynn handed him.

Right on top of the papers was the round, aluminum shoulder badge, the blue arm band, and the identification card that were the accoutrements of service with the United Nations.  While the badges Nate wore on his right shoulder and on his light blue beret said ‘UNTSO’, Colbert’s read ‘UNEF’. The armband in the Staff Sergeant’s hand was identical to the one on Nate’s right bicep, just above the roll of the uniform sleeve. It was ‘UN blue’ with white lettering that spelled out United Nations.

It occurred to Nate that, given Colbert’s rank, he’d be rotating in as a Squad Leader. He wasn’t just an ordinary grunt who passed the necessary tests to become a Peacekeeper. He had specialized skills and serious leadership capabilities.

Nate suppressed a sigh, once again regretting that they’d have no opportunity to become better acquainted.

“However, you’re stuck here with us for several days,” Wynn explained. “Most of the new UNEF troops aren’t arriving for several more days so the convoy to Egypt isn’t scheduled for almost a week.”

“Understood, Gunny,” Colbert said, reading over the papers in his hands. “I’ll do my best to make myself useful while I wait.”

Nate realized he was no longer needed here. “I leave him in your capable hands,” he said to Mike. He clapped Brad on the shoulder. “Good to meet you, Staff Sergeant. Good luck.”

Nate turned to go but was stopped when Mike called him back. “Lieutenant, I hate to impose.”

Slowly, Nate turned back to see Mike’s mischievous expression. “Captain Patterson is riding my ass about a report I owe him,” Nate said, with a slight shake of his head.

“I got an entire squad of Marines reporting in over the next few days and I’m short staffed,” Mike said, sounding at the end of his rope. “If you could just show Staff Sergeant Colbert to SE06, you can hand him off to his own men and get right back to your report.”

Nate considered this. He wouldn’t mind a little more time in Colbert’s company before he said goodbye for good. Besides, Mike had done Nate more than a few favors. He could spare the five minutes it would take to show Colbert to his billet.

“Fine,” he relented.

They stepped out into the well manicured courtyard of Government House. Nate breathed deeply against the heat and humidity of Jerusalem. He squinted against the sun as he settled his beret over his close-cropped hair. He glanced up to see Colbert pull his barracks cover down low over his eyes.

“SE06 stands for south-east-six,” he explained, leading Colbert past the shrubs and brightly colored flowers and out onto an asphalt path. “We’re all billeted in houses and cottages inside the compound. To keep it simple, it’s broken down into quadrants and then each structure is numbered. I’m billeted with another observer in SE02.”

“So, we’re practically neighbors while I’m here,” Colbert said dryly.

Nate glanced up at him sharply. He couldn’t help but return Colbert’s small smile. “Indeed we are.”

Glancing at their surroundings, Colbert’s pace slowed. Nate dropped back with him. He watched as Colbert took in the stunning view of Jerusalem that was visible from the Government House compound. There was none other like it in either the Old or the New Cities. The white of the stones that made up the buildings and the glint of the sun on the Dome of the Rock made Jerusalem appear almost magical. It was no wonder the British had built their headquarters on this spot when they’d held the Palestinian mandate.

“It’s something else, isn’t it?” Nate asked, enjoying Colbert’s look of wonder.

“It is that, yes,” Colbert murmured, turning in slow circles even as they walked forward, past one of the motor pool lots and its orderly rows of trucks, Range Rovers and hard-top Jeeps. 

Reaching the sizeable stone cottage that was SE06, it was obvious someone was already in residence. “Accommodations are tight around here,” Nate explained. “You’re most likely going to be sleeping two to a room.”

“I got used to more than that back in Basic,” Colbert said easily. “I suppose it would be too much to hope that I might be housed with semi-literate modern humans who avail themselves of our access to running water and indoor plumbing.”

Nate once again smiled at Colbert’s speech. “One can always hope, Staff Sergeant. Good luck with that.”

Stepping into the darkened interior of the hooch, Nate waited for his eyes to adjust.

“Here’s another couple of suckers who bought the European man’s recruitment speech,” greeted a short statured Marine with dark skin and a shaved head.

“Oh shit,” muttered the taller Marine, his blue eyes wide as they took in Nate’s collar bars. He snapped to attention, saluting sharply. “Lieutenant.”

The greeting was echoed as the first Marine also saluted.

“At ease, gents,” Nate said. “I’m here on unofficial business. Just delivering the Staff Sergeant to his billet. Don’t let me interrupt anything.”

Colbert stepped further into the house, hand extended. “Brad Colbert.”

“Sergeant  Anthony Espera,” the shorter Marine took Colbert’s outstretched hand. “Call me Poke, dawg.”

“Sergeant  Eric Kocher,” said the second Marine, also shaking Colbert’s hand.

His mission complete, Nate started to duck back out the still-open door. He was acutely aware of invading space designated for the NCOs when they didn’t need an officer hanging around.

“Lieutenant Fick?”

The sound of Colbert’s voice brought Nate up short. He turned back, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Thank you, sir,” Colbert said. His gaze on Nate’s face was intense.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Nate quickly made his escape. The interior of the hooch had suddenly become too close and too warm, with the way Colbert looked at him. He swallowed against his suddenly dry throat and took a deep cleansing breath.

Nate realized it was a very good thing Colbert would be leaving for the Sinai. This level of distraction could mean trouble.

Nate pushed his disappointment and regret to the back of his mind as he headed back toward brightly shining Government House. Reaching the observer’s admin office, he was relieved to find it empty. It was most likely because everyone was out on patrol and it meant he could probably get this report finished undisturbed.

The typewriter clacked loudly as he completed the report. Nate was peripherally aware of people coming and going from the UNEF office, the sounds of scuffing boots and conversation sometimes rising above his typing.

A loud and abrasive voice jarred his concentration.

“The reason nobody gets along out here ain’t because of religion,” the voice said stridently. “It’s ‘cause it’s so fucking hot. They can’t agree on nothin’ cause every time they sit down to talk, their balls get sweaty, they all start to stink, and everybody’s in a hurry to get the fuck out of there so they can go find a motherfuckin’ breeze and a beer.”

Nate could hear a voice answer but he couldn’t make out the words.

“Yeah, like how alcohol is against the rules of Islam. They still got bootleggers here,” the first voice said. Nate leaned back in his chair, surprisingly curious about what was going to be said next. “You know how I know they got bootleggers? They wrote down laws against bootlegging and included fucking medieval penalties. It’s human nature, homes, wantin’ to get your drunk on.”

“You’re dismissed, Corporal Person,” Nate heard Mike say, with more volume and more irritation than usual. “You men can go settle into your billets and get acquainted with the rest of your squad.”

Nate glanced up as four Marines passed by the door on their way down the hall. The loud voice appeared to belong to a short, wiry Marine with dark hair and tattoos that showed below the rolled cuff of his uniform. He was being dragged down the corridor by a blond Marine, also short but with the corn-fed baby face of one raised in the mid-west. “Ray, you’ll get us killed if you keep sayin’ shit like that,” he was saying as they walked.

“Hey, Garza, I say we make things interesting and send him out to try to buy bacon,” said a third Marine.

“That’s some crazy, war-startin’ shit, right there,” replied the fourth, thick glasses perched on his nose. He laughed along with his companions.

Nate wished he had that kind of camaraderie with his fellow observers. They were all older than he was and outranked him. So far, he’d found he had little in common with any of them. Even the observer he shared quarters with, Captain Dave McGraw, left Nate feeling discomfited whenever they had contact.

Silence settled once again and Nate pulled his report from the typewriter to read it over. A voice from the doorway broke his concentration.

“Is this UNEF?”

Nate looked up and turned in his chair slightly. “Across the hall,” he said, with a lift of his chin.

Both Marines in the doorway snapped to attention. “Excuse me, Lieutenant,” one said as they both saluted.

“At ease, Sergeant?” Nate asked.

“Patrick, sir,” he supplied when Nate had returned their salutes. “Sean Patrick.”

“Sergeant  Rudy Reyes, at your service, Lieutenant,” offered the second Marine. This one looked as though he should be making movies in Hollywood rather than keeping the peace in a desert in Egypt.

“Sergeant  Patrick, Sergeant  Reyes, I’m Lieutenant Fick. Welcome to Jerusalem.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sergeant  Patrick replied. “You said across the hall?”

“Yes. Gunny Wynn is waiting for you, I’m sure.”

“Thank you again, Lieutenant,” Sergeant  Reyes said as he followed Patrick down the hall.

Nate turned back to his report, realizing that as handsome as Sergeant  Reyes was, he didn’t feel the least bit attracted to him. It was Sergeant  Colbert who seemed to now be hovering just at the edge of Nate’s thoughts as he worked. He didn’t remember ever being this preoccupied with a handsome man. He’d never had a reaction that strong to anyone.

Gathering up his completed report, Nate headed for Patterson’s office. When he got there, the Chief Military Observer, Colonel Ferrando, was in conference with Captain Patterson. Ferrando answered to the call sign Godfather. As CMO, he was Patterson’s direct superior and oversaw all the military observers working for UNTSO.

Nate knocked on the sill of the door to Patterson’s office.

“Lieutenant Fick,” Nate was surprised when Ferrando addressed him directly. A bout with throat cancer had left Ferrando with a hoarse and raspy voice. “Godfather thinks you did a shit-hot job of developing your relationship with Foreign Minister Eban.” Calling himself by his own sign was only one of Godfather’s many idiosyncrasies, none of them endearing.

“Thank you, Colonel,” Nate replied, gratified that his work had indeed been noticed. It wasn’t always apparent his reports were making it up the chain of command.

“Got your report done, Nate?” Patterson asked.

“Yes, sir,” Nate stepped forward and handed the papers to Patterson. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll head out for my patrol now.”

He was dismissed. Donning his blue beret, he stepped outside. His hard-top Jeep was parked right where he’d left it the day before. There were few vehicles left in this lot; everyone else was already out on patrol.

Leaving the compound, Nate waved at the U.N. Security Officer staffing the gate. The Jordanian Legionnaire manning the second gate lifted the arm for him, and Nate headed for his assigned area, neighborhoods in North Jerusalem that ran along the armistice lines that separated the eastern and western quarters of the city.

He drove slowly through the narrow streets, some paved in stone, some nothing more than dirt, watching diligently for pedestrians who might stray into the road. All around him, women came and went from the market while children ran and played.

North of the Old City, Nate’s route took him through Arab neighborhoods as well as Jewish ones. He crossed through the Christian Quarter and the Armenian Quarter. There was little difference between them that he ever noticed, save the head coverings worn by both men and women, and the symbols found on the various religious houses. It excited Nate that Jerusalem was the last place on earth where the ancient language of Aramaic was spoken. He’d like to learn to speak it, but there never seemed to be the time.

Reaching the northern most neighborhood in his zone, Nate parked his Jeep. He retrieved his radio pack from the back seat and struggled to get the straps over his shoulders and the heavy electronics settled comfortably on his back. Clipping the handset to his uniform, he started out on foot. Nate didn’t worry the vehicle would be disturbed: the large blue ‘UN’ painted along the side would keep it safe.

Nate returned the frequent waves and friendly greetings he received as he made his way through the neighborhood on foot. Most of the residents recognized him now, and he them. Those that didn’t know him on sight were familiar with the light blue beret and armband he wore.

This neighborhood was Jewish and looked much like all the other Jewish neighborhoods in the city. The streets were narrow, barely wide enough for two adults to pass. The buildings were tall, towering over the streets and giving them an almost claustrophobic feel. They were paved with cobbled stones and sometimes contained steps. These were the streets of an ancient city; one that had existed when everyone traveled on foot.

The tall buildings were made of blocks and ranged from a single story, up to three. Some were roofed with red tiles; others were flat topped and served as spare rooms for guests and as gathering areas for the family. Still others connected across the bustling streets with archways that were more artistic than functional.

As Nate approached a small house, the narrow door opened. Out stepped an elderly woman dressed in a long skirt and tunic made of brightly colored fabric; either cotton or linen. She smiled at Nate, tottering in his direction, arms extended.

“ _Shabbat shalom,_ Nathaniel,” she said in heavily accented English, taking his hands in her rough ones.

“ _Shabbat shalom,_ Shalhevet,” he answered, returning the Hebrew greeting wishing others well on the Sabbath.

“We have not seen you in many days,” she said, tugging him toward her home. Shalhevet had come to Israel in 1949 from Poland. She had told him horror stories of the Warsaw Ghetto, things he’d only ever read about previously. She’d lost several children but her husband and a son had somehow survived. Like many Jews who had fled Europe in the wake of the Holocaust, Shalhevet had renounced her Polish name and adopted one in Hebrew.

When the armistice line had been drawn in Jerusalem and the state of Israel opened its doors to the Jews of the world, over seven hundred thousand Palestinians had been uprooted when emigrating Jews had moved in. Shalhevet and her family had arrived then. The house in which they lived had once belonged to a Palestinian family, the members of which had most likely been forcibly relocated to a tent city on the West Bank of Jordan or the Gaza strip in Egypt.

“I’ve been very busy,” Nate explained, watching Shalhevet reach through a window into her kitchen. She brought out a plate covered in _rugelach_ , a pastry she often made that was filled with nutmeats and spices. She always fed him several when he visited. “I have other neighborhoods to patrol and I’ve had to meet with Minister Eban.”

Shalhevet made a sour face. “Eh, that man is a crony of Eshkol. It is Ben Guiron we need to have in charge again. He will make sure Egypt does not destroy Israel.”

“The Prime Minister wants peace, ma’am,” Nate said gently. “Foreign Minister Eban works for peace in Israel, at the request of his Prime Minister.”

“Eshkol is weak,” Shalhevet insisted, a stubborn set to her jaw. “Ben Guiron is strong enough to stand up to Egypt. He will force the Arabs to back down and _that_ will bring peace. He will make Israel safe.”

 “You know the U.N. is here to make sure Israel stays safe,” Nate assured Shalhevet. “Israel can’t go to war; it would hurt too many people.”

“They want us all gone, Nathaniel,” she replied, handing him another _rugelach_. “The Arabs want all Jews gone from the face of the Earth.”

“The U.N. won’t let that happen,” he replied.

“If only you alone could save us all,” Shalhevet said with a smile, patting his cheek gently. “You don’t stay away so long this time.”

“I’ll try not to,” he grinned down at her. “Thank you for the _rugelach_. It was as delicious as always.”

“ _L'hitraot_ , Nathaniel,” Shalhevet said, sending him on his way.

“ _Kol tuv_ , Shalhevet,” he replied, taking his leave.

Nate’s walk through the neighborhood took him through more narrow, cobbled streets along the armistice line and its unsightly barbed wire and barricade walls. He crossed into an Arab neighborhood, careful to skirt the minefield and keeping a careful eye on the sniper positions.

Children ran through the streets here, in loud packs that flowed around Nate as he walked. The women, in various types of head coverings, marked his progress without making eye contact. Men gathered in doorways or sat in groupings of chairs in front of one home or the other. They watched him openly and in some cases, with hostility.

As Nate approached a large, two-storied block house, he glanced up toward the roof. This house was flat roofed and several men were utilizing the social area on top. They leaned over the block wall and watched him with what Nate knew to be a feigned casualness.

As Nate neared the darkened doorway, an elderly man stepped out.

“ _As-Salāmu `alayka_ ,” the man greeted.

“ _Wa `alayka s-salām_ ,” Nate replied.

“It is busy times for you, Lieutenant.”

“It’s always busy times, Ramiz,” Nate replied.

“Allah willing, Nasser will prevail and my people can come home,” Ramiz said this without hostility. He stood stiffly in front of Nate, wearing the traditional Palestinian _keffiyeh_. Many Arabs resented the U.N. for its support of Israel, but Ramiz was not among them.

“President Nasser is certainly stirring things up in Egypt,” Nate conceded. “You do realize that if he closes the Straits of Tiran to Israel, it will be difficult for you and your family to get certain things you’re used to having?”

“Closing the Straits to the Zionists will only be the beginning. President Nasser will unite all Arabs and wipe the Jews from the Earth.” Ramiz’s words were nothing Nate hadn’t heard before. The hopes of the entire Arab world seemed to hang on Gamal Abder Nasser.

“All of the Arab countries would have to finally cooperate with him,” Nate cautioned. “It’s been more than ten years since the United Arab Republic was formed and Syria and Jordan still can’t seem to stop bickering with Egypt.”

“When Allah wills it, all will fall into place,” Ramiz said with such confidence that Nate had to wonder if it was genuine. Sometimes he suspected it was wishful thinking on their part.

Nate simply nodded in reply before he shifted the topic. “How is your family, Ramiz? Is everyone healthy?” Ramiz’ home was occupied by his immediate and extended family. It was the house Ramiz himself had been born in. His parents still lived there, as did Ramiz, his wife and their four children, along with Ramiz’ younger brother and his family of four.

“They are, Lieutenant. It is kind of you to ask after them.”

“Stay safe, Ramiz,” Nate cautioned, already moving off down the street. “Things may get a little rough in the next few days.”

“I have faith,” Ramiz replied with a small smile. “ _Ma'a as-salaama_.”

“ _Allah yasalmak,_ ” Nate said, giving a small bow.

Several hours and several neighborhoods later, Nate was tired. The mood in every Jewish neighborhood he visited was tense and fearful. The Arabs were angry yet hopeful, an undercurrent of hostility nearly tangible. The Christians and Armenians felt caught up in the middle, wanting to be left in peace to live and worship.

He’d planned on visiting the GOI offices today but the time he’d had to spend completing his report for Patterson made that impractical now. Ordinarily he wouldn’t mind being outside of the DMZ after nightfall, he’d even patrolled at night when he’d first arrived in Jerusalem. But until things resolved themselves with Egypt, Nate thought he’d better be back at Government House by dark.

He found Captain Patterson in his office. “Reporting back, sir,” Nate said from the doorway.

He watched Patterson make a notation on a clipboard. “Good. What’s it like out there?” the Captain asked.

Nate sighed. “There’s talk on the street that hardliners in the Israeli government are growing more vocal. Everyone’s nervous about the accord between Egypt and Syria.”

“That seems to be the mood all through Jerusalem and Tel Aviv,” Patterson said, his expression dark. “General Bull doesn’t think Eshkol wants war.”

“I agree,” Nate replied. “But, as I’ve said repeatedly in my reports, the military establishment is itching for a showdown with the Arabs.”

“The General concurs with your assessment, Nate.” As Patterson searched his desk for something, Nate leaned against the doorframe and absorbed the fact that the Chief of U.N. forces in the Middle East was reading his reports and agreeing with his assessments. “Godfather says you need to get over to the government offices tomorrow, both here and in Tel Aviv. United Press International reported today that, quote, a high Israeli source said today Israel would take limited military action designed to topple the Damascus army regime if Syrian terrorists continue sabotage raids inside Israel. End quote.”

Nate chewed on his lower lip briefly. “Is there any indication who the Israeli source is?”

“None,” Patterson gave a shake of his head. “See if you can verify the veracity of this report.”

“It’s UPI, sir, they’re pretty reliable,” Nate said darkly.

“The Security Council is going to need something concrete if they’re going to come down on the GOI.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll head out first thing in the morning.”

“You have a good evening, Nate.”

“You as well, Captain.”

Nate’s mind was spinning as he walked toward his hooch. He took his time. Dave was most likely back from patrol and Nate wasn’t in the mood for his unhinged chatter.

“Officer on the deck!” Nate’s head snapped up.

Before him appeared to be an entire platoon of Marines, shirtless, standing at attention on and around a U.N. Range Rover.

“As you were, Marines,” Nate called out to them. He noticed Colbert among the men, and was instantly far too aware of Brad. Half-naked. Tanned. Gorgeous.

As the platoon relaxed back into whatever they had been doing before Nate had approached, Colbert came around the front of the Rover. His chest and stomach were well muscled, his tanned skin covered in a light sheen of sweat that glistened in the lamplight. Nate’s pulse raced and he struggled to keep his eyes locked on the Staff Sergeant’s face.

“Evening, Lieutenant,” Colbert greeted, approaching Nate.

“Evening, Staff Sergeant,” he replied, ignoring the way the olive BDU’s rode low on Colbert’s narrow hips. “What are you and your friends up to?”

“Keeping busy, sir. I retrieved a vehicle needing repairs from the transportation pool and set everyone to working on it.” He nodded toward the vehicle around which the men were gathered.

“Bored Marines are dangerous?” Nate asked with a grin.

“Marines are always dangerous,” Colbert returned his smile. “But without something to keep them occupied, there was a good chance furniture would end up broken and things would start getting blown up.”

“Understood. Are all of you rotating out to the Sinai?”

“Affirmative, sir.”

Nate rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “We’re all off duty, Staff Sergeant. I think it’s okay to call me Nate.”

“I’ll try, sir,” he replied with a grin, then turned to the platoon. “Gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Nate Fick. He’s one of the MOs here. Nate, you remember Sergeants Kocher and Espera from earlier?”

Nate nodded at the two Marines he’d met while showing Brad to his hooch. “I’ve already met Sergeants Reyes and Patrick,” he said inclining his head in their direction.

“Rudy and Pappy are forced to billet with us, along with Sergeant Lovell.”

“Pleasure,” Nate greeted.

“These housing arrangements are gay,” said one of the Marines bent over a fender of the Rover. “Have you noticed how gay this is, Brad? We gotta sleep in pairs, two guys to a room. At least when we’re in a bunkhouse, you know there’s one guy to a rack, but when there’s only two in a room? Gay, Brad. It’s gay.”

Nate’s eyebrows lifted as he listened to the ranting of the Marine he remembered from the corridor earlier.

“This sorry excuse for an inbred redneck is Corporal Ray Person,” Brad said patiently. “Next to him is Corporal Walt Hasser.” The sweet-faced blond Marine, that had been with Corporal Person earlier, glanced up and nodded respectfully in Nate’s direction.

“You’re the fag, Person,” the narrow featured blond Marine who had also been with Ray earlier called from the driver’s seat of the Range Rover. “The way you keep talkin’ about gettin’ to sleep alone in a room with Hasser and takin’ dick up the ass.”

This kind of talk was so common among Marines that it didn’t really mean anything. Nate never joined in, even though he often wondered if that didn’t throw suspicion onto him. He glanced surreptitiously at Colbert, gauging his reaction even as he knew not participating in this kind of talk was no real indication if a man was a homo.

“That would be Corporal Chaffin,” Brad supplied. “Behind him is Corporal Gabe Garza.” The Marine from earlier, wearing the thick glasses, gave Nate a casual salute which he returned. “These two wet-behind-the-ears-need-mama-to-wipe-my-ass-for-me children are PFCs Evan Stafford and John Christeson.”

“Yo, Staff Sergeant, that ain’t cool,” Stafford said with a hint of resentment.

“He’s flippin’ you shit, Q-tip,” Christeson said, punching Stafford in the arm. “He knows we’re the same dead-eyed killers as him.”

“Just because you managed to make it through the same vetting process, you are still a very long way from being able to compare your own level of competence to mine,” Brad said dryly before stooping to look beneath the Range Rover.

The action brought him briefly into Nate’s space. He caught the scent of engine oil and Brad’s sweat. He swallowed hard against his suddenly dry throat.

“Lilley,” Brad barked. “Get your ass out here and show the LT a little respect.”

Emerging from beneath the Range Rover was a thickly muscled, handsome Marine. He smiled broadly at Nate.

“Corporal Jason Lilley,” Brad said with a derisive shake of his head.

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Lilley said, still smiling. “Had some trouble screwing in the bolt for the oil pan.”

“No harm done, Corporal,” Nate replied, realizing he’d probably find Lilley attractive if he weren’t already standing mere inches away from Brad.

“Okay, gents, button it back up,” Brad ordered. “It’s getting dark and almost time for chow.” He turned back to Nate. “How was your patrol?”

“Tense,” Nate said, surprising himself with his own honesty. Brad was most likely just making conversation and didn’t really care about his answer.

“Nasser’s saber rattling has the Jews going on the offensive?”

Nate was surprised by the astuteness of Brad’s question. “That seems to be the case,” he admitted.

“Do you patrol alone?”

“Not usually,” Nate answered. “Lately though, I’ve been spending quite a lot of time with Israeli officials and it’s best if those are solo missions.”

“Even with mutual animosity running as high as it is?” Brad crossed his arms over his chest and Nate wet his lower lip in response. For a moment he thought he saw Brad’s eyes drop to track the movement. Nate had to be imagining that.

“It’s still a war of words at this point,” Nate assured him.

“Even so, be careful, sir.”

Nate lifted an eyebrow.

Brad gave a self-deprecating snort. “Be careful, _Nate_ ,” he said, lowering his voice.

“I appreciate the concern,” Nate said. “My orders for tomorrow are of a more diplomatic nature so my safety is assured.”

Brad nodded his understanding. His next question surprised Nate. “How’s the chow around here?”

“It’s actually pretty good,” he replied. It was almost as if Brad was making small talk, trying to keep Nate engaged. “The C-rations they give us to take on patrol are as bad as the C-rations anywhere else. I think you’ll find our mess hall superior to most others. The staff is civilian.”

“I look forward to it,” Brad replied. He looked like he was about to ask another question when they were interrupted.

“Brad, I’m hungry,” Person shouted, slamming the hood on the Rover. “I want pudding. Do you think they have pudding here? Ask your Lieutenant if there’s pudding.”

“You are a sorry motherfucker, Person,” Sergeant Espera said with an annoyed tone. “You’re here in one of the oldest cities on the planet, the spiritual center of the three largest religions in the world, and all you can talk about is booze and food.”

“And pussy,” Person added.

Espera shook his head as if in disbelief.

Nate chuckled. He took a step in the direction of his hooch, preparing to take his leave. “You gents have a nice evening.” Without thinking, Nate started to step past Brad and laid a casual hand on his bare arm. He bit back a gasp at the feel of Brad’s warm skin beneath his palm. Nate snatched his hand back quickly, as if he’d been burned.

“Won’t we see you in the mess, sir?” Brad asked, his blue eyes seeming to darken as he looked at Nate.

“I have some paperwork to complete,” Nate explained, fighting to keep his voice steady as he moved away from Brad, putting space between them. “I’ll get something later on. I imagine you’ll all want to eat early.”

“In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow, Nate,” Brad said, turning to watch Nate flee.

Nate nodded once and turned away, suppressing the urge to break into a run.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Saturday, 13 May, 1967_  
**

 _ **United Nations Treaty Supervision Organization Headquarters, Jerusalem  
0545 hours** _

_**  
**_

Nate was earlier than usual for the morning briefing. His focus on his coffee must have impacted his situational awareness, because it took him a few seconds to realize that he’d been beaten to the meeting room. Not unusual in itself – military personnel were notoriously earlier risers – but he was brought up short by the sight of Brad talking with Captain Patterson. He had no idea what the UNEF Marine was doing in the UNTSO briefing. He took a seat and tried not to look as though he was interested in their conversation.

“’Morning, Lieutenant,” Brad greeted him, nodding.

“’Morning, Staff Sergeant,” Nate returned. “How was your first night in Jerusalem?”

“Very warm, very crowded and very noisy. Sergeant Espera snores, sir.” Brad reported.

“Sorry to hear that,” Nate said, trying – and failing – to not smile. He started to ask Brad what he was doing in the briefing when Patterson called it to order.

“Alright, gents, things are getting tense out there.” He moved to stand in front map wall. “Egypt is posturing, Jordan and Syria are egging them on and Israel is taking the position that the best defense is a good offense.”

“UNEF should just make Egypt stand down,” McGraw said. “They need to be reminded they have an armistice to honor.”

“UNEF is allowed to monitor the Sinai and the Gaza Strip at the pleasure of the Egyptian government,” Patterson corrected him. “UNEF is not an occupying force.”

“What are General Bull’s thoughts on our handling of the Palestinian movements on the West Bank?” Schwetje asked dully. It was a question that had no bearing on this briefing and sought information they already had.

Patterson gave him a hard look for several seconds before answering. “General Bull has no personal thoughts on the West Bank refugees and UNTSOs policy remains unchanged.”

Nate saw Brad glance over at Schwetje with a frown. As he turned back to face Patterson again, Brad’s eyes locked on Nate’s for an interminable moment, allowing him to read annoyance and disdain there.

Captain Patterson continued his briefing. “UN Secretary General Thant has asked us to keep an eye out for Israeli troop buildup in your areas of patrol. There’s been a press report that Israel may attempt to topple the government in Damascus and the U.N. would like to report to the world that boots on the ground are not seeing any indications of an increase in troops.”

“Should we radio in immediately if we see any signs of troop movements?” Whitmer asked.

“Affirmative,” Patterson replied. “Nate, you already know you need to get over to the GOI offices and take everyone’s temperature.”

“Aye, sir,” Nate acknowledged.

“I’m also going to ask you to let Staff Sergeant Colbert accompany you today.”

Nate’s head snapped up at Patterson’s words. He glanced from the captain’s firm expression to Brad’s cool one and back again. “I don’t object in principle, sir,” he said carefully, “but the trip I have to make to Tel Aviv isn’t a typical patrol, as you know.” Nate was torn between excitement and anxiety at spending a day in the sergeant’s company. He knew which of the two he _should_ be.

“It’s not going to be a problem,” Patterson assured him. “Brief him on protocol on your way there. His UNEF training will more than hold up.”

“Yes, sir,” Nate replied with a sharp nod.

“That’s it, gents,” Patterson said to the group. “Dismissed.”

Nate stood and pocketed his notebook as Patterson handed Brad a powder blue helmet emblazoned with ‘UN’ in white. Brad already had his shoulder badge and armband securely affixed to the right arm of his uniform.

“Ready to go, Staff Sergeant?” Nate asked.

“Affirmative, sir,” Brad replied, inclining his head for Nate to precede him out the door.

“I’ll admit, I’m confused as to why you’re shadowing me today,” Nate said, as he led Brad through the old hallways of Government House.

“I’m facing several days of unstructured time, waiting for the convoy to the Sinai,” Brad replied, matching his stride to Nate’s. “I’m likely to kill Ray, or another of my fellow Marines, if I can’t get out and feel as though I’m doing something useful.”

Nate chuckled. “What do you expect to achieve today? Patrols in Jerusalem aren’t the same as in the Sinai. It’s more like a community watch than military enforcement.”

“UN patrols are structurally the same wherever they take place,” Brad replied as they stepped outside into the morning Israel sun. “So I thought I’d get a jump on understanding how you all work.”

Nate considered this. “Alright, Brad. Please, just don’t interrupt or interfere. Some of the people we’ll encounter today, I’ve spent months building relationships with.”

“This is your turf, sir,” Brad said, holding Nate’s gaze. “I promise to look and not touch.”

They approached Nate’s Jeep. “You’re not going to insist on driving, are you?” Nate asked teasingly, wondering at the strange giddiness he was feeling.

“Why would I do that?” Brad seemed genuinely surprised by Nate’s question.

“You strike me as very alpha-male, Staff Sergeant. I don’t imagine you’re out of the driver’s seat very often.” He hadn’t intended that to sound as suggestive as it had but now that he’d said it, Nate was anxious to see Brad’s reaction.

One side of Brad’s mouth lifted in a suggestive smile. Nate found it to be charming and immediately tried to ignore that feeling.

“As true as that is, I also know my own limitations. As I don’t know my way around the roads of Israel – yet – I defer to your obviously superior knowledge.” Settling into the passenger seat of the Jeep, Brad reached into his uniform blouse and pulled out a thickly folded paper. Nate watched him unfold what quickly became obvious as a map. “However, I’ll expect to take over driving duties in short order.”

Nate started the Jeep’s engine. It turned over easily, to his relief. “You’re really that good at map reading and navigating?” he asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

“I’m confident enough in my abilities,” said Brad placidly, not rising to the bait.

Smiling as he donned his blue beret, Nate put the Jeep into gear and hoped Brad was always this confident and strong. He headed out of the U.N. compound at a sedate pace. “Okay, Staff Sergeant. Our first stop is the Offices of the GOI in Tel Aviv. Can you determine the distance from here to Tel Aviv?”

“Permission to speak freely, Lieutenant?”

Nate frowned in confusion. He’d thought they already were. “Granted, Staff Sergeant.”

“This is going to be a long day in one another’s constant company. As we’re not in a combat situation, would you be averse to a relaxing of the command structure, since it’s just the two of us? I promise to return to formal address once we’re back at the compound.”

Nate took a deep breath. Brad’s request was reasonable, given their circumstances. It just felt to Nate like a dangerously slippery slope. If it turned out Brad was queer, Nate was seriously going to have to police himself.

“I’ll call you Brad, you call me Nate. When we’re with Israeli officials, we’ll use formal ranks. If I give an order and you don’t immediately follow it to the letter, we’re back to formal command structure.”

“Understood, Nate.”

Nate nearly shivered at the sound of his name spoken in Brad’s voice. “Okay. _Brad_ , how far are we from Tel Aviv?”

Brad consulted the map, making notations with a colored pencil. “Sixty-three kilometers, Nate. Would you like that in miles?”

“The U.N. utilizes metric so we’ll stick with that,” Nate said with a smile. “How long do you think it will take us to make the drive?”

“Too many variables to answer. More intel is required.”

“Such as?”

“Road conditions, anticipated traffic at this time of day, traffic control measures along the route and whether or not the driver is a pussy.”

Nate chuckled. “It usually takes me just under an hour.”

“A reasonable allotment of time,” Brad said, making a note on his map.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as Nate drove, until curiosity finally got the best of Nate.

“So, where are you from?” he asked casually.

“Southern California,” Brad replied, “not far from Pendleton. You?”

“Baltimore.”

“There’s a pretty busy port there.” Brad didn’t look up from his map.

“Very busy,” Nate replied vaguely, his pulse kicking up as certain memories washed over him. During the day, the ports were busy with the typical commerce of inbound and outbound container ships. At night though, empty containers served an entirely different purpose for Baltimore’s queers.

“Did you go to college so you could join up as an officer?” Brad asked, surprising Nate.

“No, I would have gone, regardless.” Nate pondered the motivation behind Brad’s question. “My junior year I realized I wanted something bigger. I wanted to do something more. The Marines offered that and led me to the UN.” If Brad was wondering if Nate had gone to college to dodge the draft, he had his answer.

“Have you seen combat?”

Brad’s question sounded casual but Nate knew he was being carefully assessed. “I did a tour in Vietnam as a platoon commander. How about you? Did your number come up or are you a volunteer?”

“I joined the Marines right out of high school,” Brad replied. “I’ve always known it was what I wanted to do. Two tours in ‘Nam.”

Nate whistled appreciatively. “You must scare your poor mother to death.”

Brad chuckled. “She tries to hide it by keeping busy with my sisters and their assorted brats.”

“Sisters? No brothers?”

“Two sisters, no brothers.”

“Same here; two younger sisters.”

Brad finally looked up at Nate. “I bet you were a great big brother. Overprotective as all hell.”

“Like you?” Nate guessed, grinning over at Brad.

Nate felt a spike of frustration as they reached Tel Aviv. He wanted to know more about Brad, but it would have to wait. He parked in front of the building that served as Israel’s acknowledged capitol.

Nate climbed out of the Jeep and resumed their conversation. “I was almost sure the war would be over before I made it out of OCS. I felt lucky to do one tour. You’ve been to Vietnam twice.”

“If things keep on as they have,” Brad replied, walking just behind Nate’s right shoulder, “you’ll end up seeing combat right in the streets of Jerusalem.”

Nate shook his head. “It’ll never come to that.”

“Don’t underestimate the will of the Jewish people to survive, Nate.”

That conversation would have to wait for another time, Nate thought, as they entered the seat of Israel’s government. Nate immediately headed for the offices of the Foreign Minister.

Before Nate could ask after the Foreign Minister himself, his Deputy Minister, Moshe Raviv spotted Nate and approached to greet him.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Fick,” Raviv said, shaking Nate’s hand. “Is Minister Eban expecting you?”

“He’s not,” Nate admitted. “This is an informal visit. Deputy Minister, I’d like to introduce my fellow Marine, Staff Sergeant Brad Colbert. He’s assigned to UNEF and is awaiting his convoy to Egypt. Staff Sergeant, may I present Deputy Foreign Minister Moshe Raviv.”

“ _Boker Tov_ , Staff Sergeant,” Raviv greeted Brad with a hearty handshake. Nate was stunned. None of the government officials had ever greeted him in Hebrew.

“ _Boker Or,_ ” Brad replied easily. “May I also say _Shabbat Shalom_?”

“ _Shabbat Shalom_ ,” Raviv said with a smile.

Brad shifted his weight slightly and Nate’s breath caught. Brad’s dog tags were outside of his uniform, laying against his olive-greens and easily seen. In addition to his to oblong tags, the stainless steel chain also held a Star of David pendant.

No wonder Patterson hadn’t worried about sending Brad to the GOI offices. Nate felt awash in shame. He hadn’t considered for a single moment that Brad might be Jewish.

“Will you be attending temple while you’re here?” Raviv asked Brad, jerking Nate out of his thoughts.

“My mother would be very disappointed in me if I didn’t attend temple my first Sabbath in Jerusalem,” Brad answered solemnly. Somehow, Nate knew it was the truth.

“It is a good son who honors his mother’s wishes,” Raviv said. “ _Next year in Jerusalem_ , eh?”

“Yes, sir,” Brad said carefully, looking at Nate.

Nate’s heart was hammering in his chest. He’d never heard a government official say the words of longing for the Old City. The fact that Raviv had said them, even if it was to Brad, filled Nate with a sense of dread.

“Walk with me, Lieutenant,” Raviv said. “Tell me what brings you here today.”

“I think you might already know,” Nate said. “There was a newspaper report that Israel is looking to topple the government in Damascus. Tell me it’s all talk, Deputy Minister.”

“Israel must protect itself against Arab aggression.” said Raviv’ evasively. “That said, it is not our intention to overthrow any other government.”

“I’d feel better if I could hear that directly from Minister Eban.” Nate pressed.

“He is at the Knesset today. Perhaps you can catch him there?”

They had reached the building entrance. “Perhaps,” Nate said, suspecting he was being brushed off, albeit very politely. “Thank you for your time, Deputy Minister.” He shook Raviv’s hand.

“Good day to you, Lieutenant,” Raviv said before turning to Brad. “ _Kol Tuv_ , Staff Sergeant.”

“ _Shalom_ ,” Brad replied.

They climbed into the Jeep and Nate started the engine. He sat for several long moments, not putting the vehicle into gear.

“Can I assume you were just given the polite run-around?” Brad finally asked.

“That is my belief, yes,” Nate answered. “No one in the government has ever said ‘next year in Jerusalem,’ in my presence before. And they have always been much more circumspect when expressing concern about the surrounding Arab countries.”

“You understand the meaning of the saying, don’t you?” Brad studied Nate closely as he spoke. “The Jewish people were driven from their homeland thousands of years ago and have been trying to get back ever since. Now that they’re here, they’re still denied access to their most holy sites. It’s their most fervent hope that the next year, they’ll be able to pray in the Old City of Jerusalem. You understand that kind of passion, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. It’s part of what has me so nervous.”

Nate put the Jeep in gear and set out on the road back to Jerusalem.

“Are we okay, Nate?” Brad asked suddenly, startling Nate.

Glancing over, Nate was surprised by the intensity of Brad’s gaze. “Of course we are. Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Did I say something wrong to the Deputy Minister?”

“No, you were a credit to the UN.”

“So, you’re uncomfortable with the fact that I’m Jewish.”

“No!” Nate said firmly. Maybe too firmly. “No, I admit I was surprised but it’s not a problem. At least not here in Israel. You might want to keep the Star of David hidden when you get to Egypt.”

“I won’t actually wear it when I get to Egypt. Should I not have spoken Hebrew with the Deputy Minister?”

Nate laughed self-deprecatingly. Brad wasn’t going to let this slide. “I was surprised to find out you’re Jewish but the reasons I was surprised don’t make me proud.”

“Let me guess,” Brad said, the side of his mouth lifting in a smile Nate was growing dangerously fond of. “I’m too tall, too blond and my nose is too straight? Not to mention, ‘Colbert’ isn’t exactly ‘Goldman’.”

Nate flushed. Brad had read him too easily. “I didn’t think I bought into stereotypes. I’m disappointed to discover that I do.”

Brad nodded slowly. “As fun as it is to watch you squirm, Nate, I’ll let you off the hook and tell you I’m adopted.”

Nate tried to watch the road and Brad’s amused expression simultaneously. “You’re adopted. So how exactly does that affect your Judaism?”

“My adoptive family is Jewish. I’ve been through all the requisite ceremonies that have me in good stead with the homeland, from the bris to bar mitzvah.”

Something in Nate’s chest loosened, but he realized he’d still have to be careful with his assumptions in the future.

“May I inquire as to our next destination?” Brad asked after a time.

“The Knesset, in Jerusalem. If I can’t get to Eban face-to-face today, I think it’s cause for concern.”

“Understood.”

On the road back to Jerusalem, Nate couldn’t help his curiosity. “Were you serious about attending temple in the city?”

Brad regarded Nate for a long moment. “The Sabbath ends at sundown tonight. It’s not likely, is it?”

“I suppose not.”

Brad was silent a long while before he spoke again. “I haven’t gone to _shul_ regularly since I was in high school. My mom would like it if I did while I’m here, but she doesn’t expect me to attend even though I’m in the homeland.”

“Is there anything else she hopes you’ll do while you’re here?”

“She’d like me to go to the Western Wall but that’s not going to happen and she knows that.”

Nate should have seen that coming. The Western Wall. The Wailing Wall. The last standing remnant of the Temple of Solomon. The holiest site in the world for the Jewish people, and it was in the Old City under the control of the Arab nation of Jordan.

 _Next year in Jerusalem_.

“We are here to work, not sightsee,” Nate said carefully. “But I can probably get you to the Lion’s Gate or the Hill of Evil Counsel.”

Brad smiled and shook his head. “You didn’t know many Jews back in Baltimore, did you, Nate?”

Nate clasped his lower lip between his teeth. “Not really. But one of the first things I learned when I was studying international relations is that we need to see past stereotypes. I thought I was better at it than I apparently am.”

“You’re a military observer for the United Nations, stationed in Jerusalem. I think it’s more likely you’re just hyper-aware of how important this city is, historically.”

Nate hoped Brad’s assessment was correct.

“Can we just go back to you not knowing that I’m Jewish?”

Nate huffed a laugh. “I’ll give it try, but no promises.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence until Nate pulled up to the Knesset. As they stepped out of the Jeep, Nate noticed Brad admiring an Israeli made sports car, the _Contessa_.

When Brad became aware of Nate’s regard, he smiled self-deprecatingly. Nate returned it easily; relieved the earlier tension had dissipated.

Inside the building, Nate met with nothing but frustration. Staffer after staffer he questioned told him that Eban had not been seen that day, had Nate tried the offices in Tel Aviv?

As Nate led Brad back to the Jeep, Brad asked, “This doesn’t come as a surprise to UNTSO, does it? That the lone Jewish state, surrounded by hostile Arab nations who want to see it wiped from the face of the Earth, would be so willing to defend itself with force, if necessary.”

“No, but neither can they deliberately stir up hostilities just to make another land grab.”

“Land grab?”

“The only reason Israel gave back the Sinai in 1956 was the U.N. and world pressure made them. There are already over a million displaced Palestinians. Where else do they have to go? How many more can be expelled without repercussions?”

Brad looked as though he wanted to respond but kept silent.

Nate swung the Jeep back onto the road and headed for the neighborhood he was scheduled to patrol. Brad withdrew his map again, and began making notations.

“May I ask where we’re headed?” Brad asked.

“My patrol today is in a Mizrahi neighborhood. It won’t be pretty but it’s the UNs duty not to ignore them in favor of the Ashkenazi.”

Brad looked confused but didn’t question further.

Nate parked the Jeep on a narrow, cobbled street. He waited for a _Sussita_ to zip by before stepping out into the road. He retrieved the radio pack from the backseat and began to slide it on as usual. Nate was surprised when the weight of the pack suddenly felt lighter and settled easily and comfortably over his shoulders without the usual hassle. He started at the sight of Brad’s hand appearing in his field of vision, fastening the handset to his uniform. Glancing up into Brad’s face, Nate saw his expression focused and serene; as if he did this sort of thing for an officer every day.

Brad stepped back. “Good to go?”

Nate turned to face him and gave a quick nod. “Good to go.”

Brad followed Nate down the high-walled, stone street. Nate hailed Government House on the radio and reported their position and patrol plans for the day.

“What’s significant about a Mizrahi neighborhood?” Brad asked as he settled his helmet more firmly on his head and matched Nate’s stride.

“The Mizrahi are the second class Jewish citizens of Israel.”

“If they’re Jews, how can they be second class? Isn’t it just the Arabs who are marginalized?”

“Mizrahi are Jews who emigrated from Arab countries instead of Western and Christian ones. They’re looked down on by the Ashkenazi; those who _did_ emigrate from Western nations.”

“What difference does it make?”

“Israel is in the middle of a recession. It’s a severe economic downturn and goes against the self-image the original Jewish settlers have of what Israel means. Look around you, Brad, what do you see? London or Morocco?”

Nate watched Brad take in the cars, the people, the clothing. “It’s very European.”

“That’s right. The recession has driven out tens of thousands of Ashkenazi while the Mizrahi have continued to immigrate. Some feel that this threatens the European way of life the Ashkenazi have tried to create here.”

Brad stared hard at Nate, as if trying to decide how serious he was.

“Come on,” Nate said, inclining his head up Sokolov Street.

At the entrance to a large apartment building, Nate motioned Brad to follow him inside. As his eyes adjusted, Nate saw an older man he knew, Reishon, standing in the entryway talking into a telephone mounted on the wall.

Reishon turned and spotted Nate. He pounded on an apartment door. “Rina! Rina, Lieutenant Fick is here.”

Nate turned to Brad and said, “When an Israeli family can afford to have a phone installed, they usually have it placed in a communal area. It makes it easier when the neighbors come by to use it.”

A young, dark haired woman came out of the apartment and greeted Nate. “Lieutenant Fick, it’s good to see you again.”

“Rina, how have you been?” he gestured to where Brad stood just inside the front door. “This is Staff Sergeant Colbert. He’s shadowing my patrols until he ships out to serve with UNEF.”

Brad greeted Rina politely, regarding her carefully from his greater height. Rina warmly invited them both into the apartment.

Once inside, Nate watched Brad glance around the small and cramped kitchen. It had an electric refrigerator and a gas stove. A kerosene heater was stashed in the corner, for cooler weather. Despite the gas stove, Rina’s mother, Yovel, sat on the floor cooking cauliflower on a Primus stove.

Rina introduced Brad to her mother and quietly explained, “The gas stove works perfectly well but most older women don’t understand having to stand up while they cook.”

Reishon came into the tiny apartment and was introduced to Brad.

“Will you stay for lunch?” Rina asked.

“No, but thank you. I started my patrol late today and I need to keep moving.”

“My brothers will be sorry they missed you,” Rina said.

“I’m sorry I have to miss them as well. I just wanted to stop in and ask if you’ve seen any unusual IDF troop movements?”

Rina spoke to her parents in Hebrew and then shook her head. “No, none of us have seen anything different about the soldiers coming and going in the city.”

“Thank you, Rina.” Nate stepped into the corridor.

“ _Shabbot Shalom_ ,” Brad said to the family as they left the apartment.

“An Israeli family can live on seven-hundred lire a month,” Nate explained as he led Brad back onto the narrow street. “Most want to own their own apartments and a car.”

“That sounds like the American dream,” replied Brad.

“Doesn’t it, though? The Mizrahi outnumber the Ashkenazi now, but with the closing of so many businesses and manufacturing plants, the near standstill in the Israeli economy, well …” Nate gestured back toward Rina’s apartment building.

Glancing over his shoulder, Brad asked, “Is that typical of how everyone lives in Jerusalem?”

Nate considered the question before he answered, “Common, yes, but I wouldn’t say typical. Some live better than others. We have some walking to do, hitting some of my usual neighborhoods as we circle back to the Jeep. Are you up for the hike?”

Brad gave Nate a dark look. As a Marine, he could easily hike twenty miles with a full pack.

“When the state of Israel was formed,” Nate explained as they walked, “eight out of every ten Arabs living in what had been Palestine became a refugee. 160,000 stayed behind and became the minority in a country with a social system and language they didn’t understand.”

“There are supposed to be 312,000 Palestinians living in Israel,” Brad said. “Does that mean their numbers have doubled in the last twenty years?”

“Yes,” replied Nate, “the Arabs average six persons per family, where Jewish families only average four persons.”

“Aren’t Israeli-Arabs given full rights as citizens?” asked Brad.

Nate made a gesture to indicate ambivalence. “They can vote and run for office, but few of them serve in the IDF and the Israeli government considers them a security risk. They’re most all subjected to martial law.”

“How is that enforced?"

“Palestinians are required to obtain permits to leave their own neighborhoods. They need permits for every purpose; work, business, medical treatment. Weddings, funerals, surgery, even to visit relatives in another town. Local officials can withhold permits at their own discretion, and you can imagine that power is abused.”

“If most of the Palestinians in Israel were born here after Israel was formed, why are they considered a security risk?”

“It’s an excuse for a land grab.”

“I’m sensing a pattern,” Brad said dryly.

“The government has seized roughly half of all Arab-owned lands in the last twenty years,” Nate said simply. “Martial law was supposed to isolate Arabs in their villages but confiscating their lands means that one out of every two male breadwinners is forced to work for a Jewish employer. Most Israeli-Arabs live in poverty under precarious conditions.”

Brad’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You’ve already said Israel is in a recession and the Jewish population is struggling to survive so everyone is in the same boat.”

“Not really. The Jews are struggling to live well. The Arabs are struggling to live. Their average income is less than half of that of the Jewish population. Seventy-percent of Arab villages aren’t hooked up to the electricity grid or the national water system. No Arab village has paved streets or a sewage infrastructure.”

“Let me guess,” Brad sighed. “Arab unemployment is double that of Jews.”

“That would be correct,” Nate replied. “Although Jewish contractors like to hire Arab laborers because they’re unlikely to enforce their rights.” They turned down the street he was targeting. “Hide your dog tags,” Nate.

“What?” Brad asked, glancing around them.

“Hide your tags or take off the Star of David. We’re in an Israeli-Arab neighborhood.”

Nate watched Brad check and realized his tags were already stowed. Nate hadn’t noticed when that had happened. Approaching a large brick and mortar house, Nate knocked on the door. It was answered by a youthful Arab male.

“ _As-Salāmu `alayka_ ,” Nate greeted.

“ _Wa `alayka s-salām_ ,” the man replied.  


“Tamim, please meet Staff Sergeant Colbert. He is also an American Marine. May we visit with your family?”  


“You are welcome, Lieutenant Fick. Both of you.” Tamim said, stepping aside to allow them into the house. He led them up the stairs to the flat, partially covered roof where the males of the family spent most of their time.  


Nate greeted Tamim’s two younger brothers, his sons and his nephews. “I’m running behind today so our visit will be brief. Can you tell me if anyone in your family has noticed an increase in IDF troops in the city?”  


Tamim consulted with his brothers before answering Nate. “We have seen nothing different about the Jewish soldiers. The Jordanians seem more on edge, though.  


“Do they have a reason to be on edge?” Nate inquired, suddenly tense himself.  


“Perhaps President Nasser is finally ready to act?”  


“Perhaps,” Nate said noncommittally. “Thank you, for your time, Tamim.”  


When Nate and Brad were back on the street, Brad asked, “So, it’s confirmed: no build up of IDF troops?”  


“It seems that way,” Nate replied, still feeling as though he was missing something significant.  


“Where to now?” asked Brad.  


“Back to the Jeep. No more home visits but I have a few neighborhoods I want to pass through, let them see the U.N. blue.”  


“Lead the way.”

Brad was never more than a few steps behind Nate for the rest of the afternoon. He greeted the Arabs respectfully and engaged the Jews with scattered phrases of Hebrew. He was professional and respectful, yet no one ever seemed to forget he was there.  


“You’re going to do just fine with UNEF,” Nate told Brad as they reached the Jeep. “They’ll be glad to have you.”  


Brad glanced at Nate, looking surprised. It was as if the praise made him uncomfortable. It was a good look on Brad.

When they were headed back to the U.N. compound, Nate asked, “So, what do you think of the duties of an MO?”  


“It’s much more involved than I thought. More personal,” Brad replied.  


“None of us can be everywhere at once. I can’t see everything, no matter how observant I am. I need the relationships with the people who live here in order to tell me what I need to know.”  


“Do all the observers develop relationships with the residents?”  


“Maybe not in the same way. If they’re smart, they develop contacts. I think you can guess who might have a little trouble in that area.”  


Brad chuckled.  


“Rina seems a little bit old to be unmarried. Aren’t Israeli women encouraged to marry young?”  


“They’re encouraged to marry, start families and cater to their husbands with almost the same ferocity that American women were after World War II. Rina is an exception, though. She’s educated, which is even rarer in a Mizrahi woman.”  


Nate expected Brad to make a pithy reply. A tendril of inexplicable jealousy wove its way through Nate’s chest. “Would your family grow hysterical if you brought home a shiksa wife?”  


Brad snorted a laugh. “If I ever took someone home to meet the family, there would be so many other issues, their religion would be the least of it.”  


Nate didn’t dare look at Brad. He, too, had long practice in the game of pronoun use.  


When Nate could breathe again, he inhaled deeply and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. He was about to take a huge risk. Everything inside of him said it was unwise but he couldn’t help feeling that Brad had taken the first step and Nate had to meet him.  


“Have you ever considered just doing what’s expected of you? At least on the surface? Your family is happy and you’re free to find what you need where you can.”  


Brad was silent for a long while and Nate’s heart hammered in his chest. He was sure he’d overstepped.  


When he finally answered, Brad still didn’t look at Nate. “That would bring too much unhappiness to at least one other person, more if we had children. None of them would deserve to live a lie. It would be my last resort.” When Brad finally turned to look at Nate, he was grinning slightly. “It’s a non-issue for now, because there is nobody else. And, fortunately, my parents are too preoccupied with my sisters and their demon progeny to pay much attention to my love life.”  


Nate laughed and nodded. The tightness in his chest loosened and curled low in his belly. Something had passed between him and Brad, something significant. Nate would consider later just how unwise it was, given their ranks.  


Right now, he was moved to make a grand gesture; something that would be meaningful to Brad and significant to the both of them.  


“Make sure your tags are tucked away,” Nate said suddenly. “I’d prefer if you took off the Star and stashed in the Jeep but if not, make sure your tags can’t accidentally tumble out.”  


Brad looked at Nate in confusion, even as he made sure his dog tags were solidly secured. “Why? Where are we going?”  


“It’s a surprise,” Nate said. “Just make sure the Star is secure and let me do the talking. The blue hats and armbands will do the rest.”  


Nate drove into East Jerusalem, toward the Jordanian held Old City, making sure to drive slowly and carefully past the concrete and barbed wire bunkers. The soldiers manning the machine gun turrets noted their passage but U.N. MOs were a common sight, coming and going through all sectors of the city.  


They reached a roadblock that served as a checkpoint. It was guarded by several armed Jordanian soldiers. Nate had been through here several times; he wasn’t worried.  


“I’m Lieutenant Fick. Staff Sergeant Colbert is newly arrived at Government House and needs to learn his way around the city.” To Nate’s amusement, Brad had his map out and was scribbling notations. He feigned disinterest in the checkpoint soldiers but Nate could feel the coiled tension held in check.  


The Jordanian soldier looked them both over cursorily. The U.N. was a common and visible presence in Jerusalem and since they were never armed, its soldiers weren’t considered any kind of a threat.  


“Lieutenant,” the soldier said, giving Brad the barest of nods. He gestured for the barrier arm to be lifted.  


Nate waved as he drove through the checkpoint. He progressed slowly, heading for the west side of the Temple Mount. When the golden dome came into view, he parked the Jeep.  


“We go the rest of the way on foot,” he told Brad, as they both climbed out of the vehicle. They quickly repeated the ritual with the radio pack. Nate suppressed a gasp when, this time, Brad’s hand lightly brushed against the skin of his throat.  


It was a short walk through the Moroccan quarter. As Nate led Brad across the stones, the golden dome of the Temple Mount could be seen to their left. To the right, in the distance, was the gray dome of al-Aqsa mosque.  


Nate knew the moment Brad understood where they were; his eyes widened and his steps faltered.  


“I shouldn’t be here, should I?” Brad asked quietly.  


“Just keep your tags out of sight and we’ll be fine. The Jordanians are mostly occupied with keeping the Israeli Jews out of the Old City,” Nate replied. “True, they don’t want any Jews at all near the holy sites, but the U.N. is neutral. Officially, you don’t have a religion. You’re here as a representative of the United Nations.”  


Brad stepped closer and lowered his voice. “The Armistice of ’49 allows for Jewish access to the Wall. Why can’t the U.N. enforce that?”  


“We’ve tried,” Nate replied, keeping his own voice quiet, as well. “We keep trying. Short of becoming an occupying force, there isn’t much we can do if the Jordanians don’t want to cooperate.”  


People milled about them as they stepped out of the Moroccan quarter, four meters from the Western Wall of the Temple of Solomon. They were surrounded by Arabs in traditional dress, Americans and Western Europeans – most likely scholars – who stood or strolled along the walkway at the base of the wall. Most ignored them but a few acknowledged their blue U.N. hats.  


Nate stood shoulder to shoulder with Brad as they took in the sight of the Western Wall – the Wailing Wall. The pale stone glittered in the sunlight, much the same way Government House did. The individual blocks that made up the wall were limestone and Nate had been told once that they weighed between two and eight tons each. While the overall length of the wall was 1,600 feet, this portion that was open to the courtyard was only 187 feet. It towered sixty-two feet above them and Nate knew another forty-three feet formed the foundation beneath ground.  


“Do you know the history of the wall?” Brad asked solemnly, his eyes roaming over the holy site.  


Nate had to clear his throat before he could answer. “Vaguely. It’s a remnant of an ancient temple, isn’t it?”  


“Two temples, actually,” Brad answered. “Solomon’s Temple was built on top of the Temple Mount around the 10th century B.C. It was destroyed when the Babylonians sacked Jerusalem in 586 B.C. The Second Temple was built in 516 B.C. Around 19 B.C., Herod the Great began a massive expansion project on the Temple Mount. He renovated and enlarged the temple. This wall was part of the retaining perimeter wall of the platform. Herod's Temple was destroyed by the Romans, along with the rest of Jerusalem, in 70 A.D. That was the First Jewish-Roman War. Even now that they’ve got the homeland back, the Muslims are still denying them access to the Old City and their holy sites,” Brad said quietly, looking around to make sure he wasn’t overheard.

“ _Next year in Jerusalem_ ,” Nate repeated once again.  


“Yep,” Brad agreed. “The hope of every Jew that, next year, they’ll be able to pray at the Wailing Wall on high holidays.”  


“How long’s it been?” Nate asked, knowing the answer but wanting to keep Brad engaged. He was enjoying watching Brad’s curiosity and wonder as he glanced around them.  


“For most of this century Jews were allowed access to the Old City for prayer,” Brad replied, leaning in so he could be heard and making Nate’s heart race. “The Muslims spent a lot of time trying to convince the occupying British they had exclusive rights to the holy sites. The British in turn, gradually whittled away at the Jews’ access. When the Jordanians took over in ‘49, all access was denied and it’s been that way ever since.”  


“I’m sorry, for what that’s worth,” Nate said, resisting the urge to place a hand on Brad’s arm.  


“It matters more to my family than it does to me, but thanks,” Brad replied.  


Nate sighed heavily and glanced around to make sure they hadn’t drawn undue attention. “I don’t want to rush you but I like to be back at Government House by dark.”  


“Roger that. Let’s go,” Brad inclined his head in the direction from which they’d come.  


Back in the Jeep, Nate headed directly out of the Old City.  


“What’s your usual end-of-patrol routine?” Brad asked as they neared the demilitarized zone.  


“I usually let Captain Patterson know I’m back, give a brief summary of events, and then I write an after-action report,” Nate answered.  


“And?” Brad prompted.  


Nate was confused. “And … should there be more?”  


“Do you have dinner alone or with other MOs?” Brad asked. “Do you sit in your hooch and read or do you socialize?”  


“All of the above,” Nate answered cautiously, wondering at Brad’s interest. “It depends on the circumstances and who’s around. Why?”  


“Just wondered if you were going to drop me at the door and disappear into the night or if I’d see you around later,” Brad said with exaggerated humor.  


Nate couldn’t stop his smile. “Wondering if I enjoyed our _date_ , Sergeant?” Glancing over, he saw Brad beginning to smile in response. “Not to worry. I’ll call you again.”  


If Brad had formed a reply, it was lost when Nate parked the Jeep outside of Government House. Entering the grand building, they both took off their respective blue covers.  


Patterson was in his office when they arrived. “How’d it go, gents?”  


“Fine on the surface, sir, but I don’t have a good feeling,” Nate replied.  


“IDF troop movements?” Patterson asked.  


“None observed directly and none of my contacts reported seeing anything out of the ordinary,” Nate answered. “But what concerns me is that Raviv gave me the run around and I couldn’t get in front of Eban in either Tel Aviv or the Knesset Building.”  


Patterson frowned. “What do you think this means? Any guesses as to what’s going on?”  


Nate shook his head. “I’m not sure. I imagine Godfather and General Bull will have some opinions on the matter.”  


“I know they will, Nate.” The Captain smiled slightly. “But right now, I’m asking for yours. You’re the one with the established relationships. What do you think is going on?”  


Nate took a deep breath and considered his words. “I think Israel is gearing up to defend itself from what it views as a serious threat from Egypt, sir. I also wouldn’t put it past them to make a preemptive strike.”  


“That is not the prevailing opinion,” Patterson said carefully.  


Nate stood his ground. “I know. But if Israel feels threatened enough, it may see a first strike as its only chance for continued survival.”  


Patterson nodded, as if weighing Nate’s words. “Make sure to include your opinions in your after-action. At the very least, they won’t be able to say they weren’t warned.”  


“Yes, sir.”  


Patterson turned to Brad. “How ‘bout you, Staff Sergeant? How was your experience, today?”  


Brad lifted a single eyebrow. “Enlightening and informative, sir. Thank you for the opportunity. If I may ask a question?”  


Patterson gestured for Brad to continue.  


“If tensions continue to escalate, is Lieutenant Fick still going to patrol alone?”  


Patterson gave Brad a long look. “Observers usually patrol in pairs. Lieutenant Fick traditionally patrols alone when he has business with the GOI. He most frequently patrols with Captains McGraw or Whitmer.”  


“I was hoping to be able to accompany him again, sir. If it’s not too much trouble. I don’t want to lose my edge to inactivity.”  


Nate’s first inclination was to argue. He didn’t need a babysitter. And yet - he’d enjoyed Brad’s company and wouldn’t mind having him along on another patrol.  


“Nate?” Patterson asked dubiously.  


“I have no objections, sir. The Staff Sergeant was competent and professional today. If he doesn’t find it all too boring.”  


“There’s your answer, Colbert. We’ll see you at the briefing tomorrow morning.”  


“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get started on my after-action, sir,” Nate said.  


Patterson dismissed them both.  


“You’re done for the day, Staff Sergeant,” Nate said, heading off to write his report. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”  


“Yes, sir,” Brad replied lightly, as if there was more he wanted to say. “Have a good night.”  


It was all Nate could do to focus on writing his report. He was hungry, tired and still felt restless. Patterson wasn’t in his office when Nate dropped off the completed forms. He grabbed a quick dinner in the U.N. mess before heading out for his quarters in the dark.  


His path was going to take him past Brad’s hooch again. He didn’t have to take this route. Nate could get to his own billet without encountering Brad again.  


Nate didn’t alter his course.  


Artificial light illuminated the compound outside of the houses Brad and his men were assigned to. As he drew closer, Nate could see lamps, lanterns and flashlights were in use as the enlisted Marines crawled over a Canadian Ferret scout car. It was a strange looking, squat vehicle, resembling a cross between a tank and a Jeep. They were sturdy and reliable and were used by UNEF in conjunction with Jeeps on their Sinai patrols.  


This one appeared to have its hood up and several of the Marines Nate had met last night were bent over the fenders.  


“Yo, Brad,” one of the Marines shouted, startling Nate. “Your lieutenant is here.”  


“Mind your manners, Ray. You’re among humans now.” Nate heard Brad’s voice answer but couldn’t see him.  


Ray. Corporal Person, if Nate’s memory served. He nodded acknowledgement at the short, dark haired Marine. The group all started to replace discarded shirts and to stand at attention.  


“We’re all off-duty gents,” he called. “Everyone stand easy.”  


“Looks like you survived your day with the Iceman, sir,” called another Marine. Espera, Nate thought. Called Poke, for whatever reason.  


“Iceman?”  


“Staff Sergeant Colbert,” explained Reyes. “He’s cold as ice in combat. Nothin’ gets under that Marine’s skin.”  


“I see,” Nate replied carefully, his eyes darting to Brad as he stepped into the light. “The Staff Sergeant was helpful today, and he was good company.”  


Several of the Marines snickered. “Are you sure we’re talking about Brad, here?” Ray asked dubiously. “He’s a lot of things but good company ain’t one of them.”  


“Unlike all of you ignorant, inbred, backwoods morons, the LT can actually hold an intelligent conversation,” Brad interjected, coming to stand next to Nate. He’d shed his shirt and worked up a light sweat so the lamplight shone on his slick skin.  


Nate tried to ignore the way his pulse raced and his mouth went dry. “What are you all up to?” he asked, trying to take the focus off of himself.  


“We worked out a little trade with the Canadian UNEF guys who’re billeted across the compound,” Brad answered. “They got their hands on a highly coveted beverage. However, they are useless at repairing their own vehicles.”  


“So, you’re repairing their vehicle in exchange for some of this … beverage?”  


“Yes, sir,” Brad said. “Unofficially.”  


“Of course.” Nate suppressed a smile.  


“Fuckin’ Canadians,” Person shouted. “Stingy with the hooch and can’t throw a wrench.”  


“Ray,” Brad said with a cautionary tone.  


“I only ask that I don’t see it,” Nate said.  


“Aye, aye, Lieutenant,” Ray responded, turning back to the Ferret.  


When Nate turned back, Brad gestured with a nod for Nate to follow him out of the circle of light and into the dark. “I wanted to apologize for inviting myself along on your patrol tomorrow,” Brad said, stepping in close to Nate and pitching his voice low. “That didn’t go down exactly like I wanted it to.”  


As Nate’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the meager ambient light reflected in Brad’s eyes. They looked pale and intense.  


“I’m a grown man, Brad, and a Marine Corps officer,” Nate said, watching as Brad’ eyes glanced down at his mouth before looking up again. “Captain Patterson asked me if I would I take you along. He didn’t order me.” It was obvious now, how Brad kept watching Nate’s mouth as he spoke. “If I’d had a problem with it I’d have said so at the time.” Nate stopped himself from wetting his lips just to see Brad watch him do it. He wondered if Brad was thinking about kissing him. Nate was sure thinking what it might be like to kiss Brad.  


Emboldened by Brad’s interest, Nate let his own eyes run the length of Brad’s tall body, enjoying what he could see of his long, lean form. Nate knew it was common for straight Marines in situations with limited access to women to seek out other men for sex. Nate avoided those kinds of encounters. He hoped Brad’s attentions weren’t simply for convenience, or worse, desperation.  


“Good to know, sir,” Brad replied. “Inactivity is stifling and there are only so many hours in a day I can tolerate that whiskey-tango bunch of retards.” He inclined his head toward the raucous group of men working on the Ferret. “Plus, I don’t think Captains McGraw and Schwetje have as much to teach me as you do.”  


Nate wasn’t sure how to answer that. He studied Brad for a long moment.  


“Thank you for the compliment,” he finally said, allowing himself a small smile.  


In the distance, the engine of the Ferret struggled to start but just couldn’t quite turn over.  


“Yo, Iceman,” Poke called into the dark, “we did what you said but we still need your mechanical genius over here.”  


“Gimme two mikes,” Brad shouted in answer before turning back to Nate. “Looks like the kids need Daddy’s attention.”  


“Go take care of your men, Brad. I’ll see you in the morning.”  


“Good night, Nate.”  


He stood watching Brad renter the circle of lantern light, admiring the slow, easy roll of his hips. Nate adjusted himself in his uniform and struck out for his own hooch, feeling suddenly lonelier than he had since arriving in Jerusalem.  



	3. Chapter 3

_**Sunday, 14 May, 1967**   
_

_**United Nations Treaty Supervision Organization Headquarters, Jerusalem  
0600 hours** _

_**  
** _

Nate was heading for the briefing room when he heard his name called from behind him. He turned and saw Brad striding toward him.

“Good morning, Staff Sergeant,” Nate greeted, smiling broadly despite his attempt to remain detached. “Did you sleep well?”

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Brad replied. “I slept well enough. Had trouble getting my brain to shut down so I could get to sleep.”

Nate’s smile faltered. He’d had the same problem. “Any one thing in particular occupying your thoughts?”

“There is one thing I’ve been trying to puzzle out,” Brad answered, his eyes running the length of Nate’s body before meeting his gaze.

“How to get the Ferret running?”

Brad snorted. “We got that bitch running about ten mikes after you left.”

Nate’s next question had to wait. They had reached the briefing room.

Patterson glanced up and caught sight of Nate. “Good, Lieutenant, you’re here,” he said. “General Bull has reported to the Security Council that there has been no IDF troop build-up.”

“Is that still the case?” Nate asked, fear spiking through him in a rush.

“Affirmative. However, the Security Council has informed the general that the Soviets are telling Syria that an Israeli attack on the Golan Heights is imminent.” The Captain’s expression darkened as he broke this news.

“Are the observers in Golan seeing troop movements?” Nate’s already tense body tightened even further.

“Negative. There is no evidence to indicate Israel plans to launch an attack of any kind. However,” Patterson paused, giving Nate a hard look, “the observers in the Golan Heights have reported that IDF troops already stationed there are harassing Syrian troops across the border. They’re deliberately antagonizing them, as if trying to draw Syria into striking first. What impact do you think this could have on the overall situation?”

“Has Syria retaliated in any way against Israel’s provocation?” Nate asked.

Patterson shook his head. “Shots have been exchanged over the border but no troops have attempted any incursions.”

Nate considered the implications of an already hostile Syria being provoked while the Soviets led them to believe that Israel was planning an attack. Moreover, Syria did not exist in a vacuum; Egypt’s current posture had to be taken into account.

“It’s going to have Damascus turning to Nasser,” he finally answered. “Egypt and Syria are going to draw closer to one another. If Jordan gets into the act, all hell could break loose.”

Patterson nodded slowly as he considered Nate’s words. “Let’s hope Hussein keeps a cool head.”

“If anyone will, it’ll be Hussein, but I’m not completely assured of it.”

“Agreed.” Patterson shifted his attention to Brad. “Sergeant Colbert; the U.S. government is demanding UNEF Peacekeepers be stationed in Jerusalem for the duration. It hasn’t been approved yet, and may never be. However, if it is, we can’t afford to pull any peacekeepers from the Golan Heights.”

“Given that the Soviets are getting in the middle of this thing, that’s understandable,” Brad replied carefully.

“Would you be able to write up a duty schedule for your men in the event I have to commandeer you for patrols or enforcement?”

Nate watched Brad’s expression clear as he understood what Patterson was thinking. “Absolutely, sir.”

Patterson handed Brad a thin stack of papers. “This is the schedule of patrols and static observations. I’d like you to augment what we already have going on.”

“Is tomorrow morning soon enough?” Brad replied.

“That’ll do just fine, Sergeant. I’ve cleared this with Gunny Wynn but be sure to check in with him and let him know just what you’re up to.”

“Aye, aye, sir,”

Patterson called the briefing to order. Nate turned to find a chair and saw Brad had pushed two together and was gesturing him into one. Nate sat and was startled by Brad’s proximity when he dropped into the second chair. They were pressed together from hip to knee and Nate battled to slow his heart and steady his breathing.

He glanced around the room but no one was paying them any attention. It was a small room and observers who partnered up for patrols often sat close together as they consulted notes, reports or maps.

It was like Brad was reading Nate’s mind when he unfolded his map and draped it across their laps.

“Some of the patrols yesterday stuck exclusively to Jewish neighborhoods,” Patterson addressed the room. “That defeats the purpose of looking for IDF troop build-ups. If the Israelis make a move, it will be against Arab neighborhoods.”

Nate glanced surreptitiously around the room. He saw Captain Schwetje staring at Patterson in confusion, breathing heavily through his mouth. Just beyond him, Captain McGraw was watching the commander with an expression bordering on panic. Nate didn’t have to guess who had thought it was a brilliant idea to check for Israeli troop movements in friendly neighborhoods instead of hostile ones.

“So, if our information yesterday was incomplete, what was reported back to the Security Council?” Whitmer asked.

“General Bull sent a telex advising the Council that no unusual movements or build-ups of Israeli troops have been observed,” Patterson replied. “To take up the slack, the static observers took up overnight positions in Arab neighborhoods last night.”

Nate watched Whitmer and Eckhoff exchange a look. He glanced at Brad who was watching Schwetje and McGraw with barely disguised disdain.

“So, do you need us to go into Arab neighborhoods today and look for IDF troops?” Schwetje asked.

Nate bit the inside of his cheek and watched Brad’s expression morph into disgust.

“I need you to conduct your usual patrols but keep your eyes open for unusual Israeli troop movements,” Patterson said with a patience that bordered on saintly. “Keep it balanced and neutral, as always. Any questions?”

There were none so Patterson dismissed them. Nate immediately headed for the door, knowing Brad was right on his six.

“Nate. Hey, Nate,” Dave McGraw called from behind them.

Nate stopped walking and gritted his teeth. As he turned around, he glanced up at Brad with a look he hoped clearly showed his annoyance. Brad must have understood because he appeared to bite back a smile.

“Yeah, Dave,” Nate said, unable to stop his heavy sigh.

“If Egypt attacks and seizes southern Israel, do you think they’ll arm us?” Dave asked, eyes wide as saucers and filling Nate with a strange discomfort.

“That’s not going to happen,” Nate answered, keeping his voice low and measured. “There’s an entire force of UNEF peacekeepers that are strategically positioned to deter that very thing.”

“It could mean the apocalypse,” McGraw continued as if Nate hadn’t spoken. “If the homeland falls again and Egypt wipes out all the Jews.”

“That’s UNEF’s mandate to prevent,” Nate reiterated. “They’re down there to keep Israel from being invaded, to keep the Suez Canal and the Straights of Tiran open. We’re observers. We aren’t armed.”

Nate turned away before Dave could suck him in further. He headed down the corridor, feeling Brad immediately behind him.

“Do I even want to ask what that was all about?” Brad asked.

“It’s better if you don’t know,” Nate replied dryly. “Do you need to check in with Gunny Wynn before we step off?”

“I should, yes,” Brad answered. “I’d also like to stop off and see the rest of my men. I have some tasks to delegate.”

When they entered the UNEF offices inside Government House, Gunny Wynn glanced up and looked relieved to see Brad.

“Tell me you can help Captain Patterson with what he needs,” Mike said, strain evident on his features.

“Affirmative, Gunny,” Brad said, holding up the papers Patterson had given him. “I’m going to task some of my sergeants with organizing patrols if we have to cover Jerusalem.”

Wynn held up a large stack of papers and gestured at others on his desk. “I got my hands full with the crises in the Sinai. If Egypt makes a move all hell is going to break loose.”

“Understood, Gunny,” Brad said. “I’ll copy you on what I come up with.”

Outside in the morning sunshine, Brad and Nate approached the cluster of buildings where the U.S. Marines were billeted. As they approached, Nate could see Reyes leading the men in morning calisthenics.

“Sorry to interrupt, gents,” Brad called. “Patrick, Espera, Kocher and Lovell; with me.”

Four Marines broke off from the group. They arrayed themselves in front of Brad, looking expectant.

“The U.S. Government is calling for UNEF patrols to help keep Jerusalem safe as tensions in the region keep rising,” Brad explained. “It’s not officially approved, and might not be, but the UNTSO Sector Commander has asked for our assistance in getting prepared, just in case.”

“Whacha need, Sarg?” Pappy asked.

“Steven, contact the troops from the other participating countries: the Aussies, the Canadians, the Swedes, everyone here waiting to rotate out. Get a full accounting of troop numbers and equipment they have on hand. If they need to verify authorization or have questions, have them see Gunny Wynn.”

“Yes, sir,” said Lovell, pulling out a notepad and marking in it.

“Eric; gather up maps of the A.O. Get them from UNTSO if UNEF doesn’t have them. Make sure they’re gridded the same as the ones the MOs use.”

“Roger that,” Sergeant Kocher answered.

“Poke; help Eric gather and condense the information into something workable.”

“You got it, sir,” Sergeant Espera said, sketching a lazy salute.

“Pappy; make sure these losers do as they’re told. When they’re done, use these,” Brad handed Sergeant Patrick the schedules he’d gotten from Patterson, “to sketch out some rough patrols. Have them ready for me when I get back this evening.”

“Babysitting your LT again?” Poke asked, grinning up at Brad.

Nate knew the harassment was aimed at Brad’s status as the obvious alpha-male but he felt compelled to assert himself. “I can wipe my own ass just fine, gentlemen, thank you. If you all showed the same initiative of action as Staff Sergeant Colbert, you could be bossing him around, instead.”

He caught Brad grinning at him before he turned back to his men.

“Awright, dog, your boy’s got fire,” Poke said with an approving nod.

Nate snorted and shook his head derisively; all too aware of just how young he appeared. He let his annoyance cover the fact that being referred to as Brad’s ‘boy’ didn’t bother him like it should. Instead, it left him feeling warmed.

“You guys have until dark, so get to it,” Brad ordered, already turning to head toward the Jeep.

“Very impressive, Staff Sergeant,” Nate told him as they walked. “It looks like they made the right choice in squad leader.”

Brad glanced at him, seeming both pleased and yet uncomfortable with Nate’s compliment. Nate wondered if Brad generally had trouble accepting praise or if it was Nate’s praise, specifically, that threw him off balance.

“Seriously, Brad,” Nate felt compelled to continue, “you took the initiative; formulated a clear plan of action; delegated tasks appropriately; issued clear, concise orders to your men and included precise deadlines; and finally, you’re going to follow up and take responsibility to ensure the project is completed correctly and on time. That’s impressive work.”

“Appreciate that, sir,” Brad said tightly.

“You’d have made a great officer,” Nate said casually, watching Brad carefully out of the corner of his eye.

Brad snorted, finally grinning. “Just when I was starting to like you, sir.”

Nate chuckled.

When they were settled in the Jeep and leaving the compound, Nate asked, “How long have you been working toward becoming a UNEF Squad Leader?”

“Not long. Hebrew has always been a second a language for me. The other qualifying skills I picked up along the way. I wasn’t trying for them, not really, most of it just comes naturally. After my last tour in Vietnam, I had documentation that I was suited for the job. They made me jump through hoops to _get_ the job, but I’m finally here.”

Nate nodded. He’d endured similar hurtles to get where he was. The paperwork alone had seemed endless and the vetting process had been both lengthy and thorough.

“How did you manage to become a military observer, given the U.N.s basic requirements? You must have a hell of an education. Do you only speak three languages?”

Nate was baffled. He didn’t think Brad had meant to be insulting. “Just which basic requirements do you think I bypassed? I’m here on merit, the same as you are.”

“I thought the minimum age for MOs was twenty-five? You only did a single combat tour, right?”

Nate glanced back and forth between Brad and the road. “Are you fucking with me?”

“No. At least not intentionally.”

Nate sighed heavily. “Do I really seem that boot to you?”

“You don’t seem boot at all, which is what has me confused.”

“Brad, I’m twenty-six years old. I did a full tour in Vietnam, completed UNTSO training before coming to Jerusalem, and I’ve been here nearly a year.”

Color rose on Brad’s cheeks. “I … I apologize, sir.”

Nate waved a hand dismissively. He was used to Brad’s reaction. He just couldn’t help being concerned that this might affect the burgeoning relationship between the two of them. It wasn’t rational really, but if Brad had thought Nate was barely more than a kid …

Finally, Brad smiled and shook his head. “It actually makes sense.”

“So, do you like me more, or less, now that you know I’m not a child prodigy? Now that it’s obvious I _didn’t_ have to blow anybody important to get my job?”

“I didn’t think that. And I like you just fine, no matter what.”

“Good,” Nate replied, and couldn’t think of anything else to say. He had the feeling there was more to their conversation than just the surface meaning. Nate wasn’t sure where this was heading and if where he wanted it to head was even a wise idea.

“Where to today?” Brad asked, breaking the spell of their previous conversation.

“I have an Ashkenazi neighborhood that I’d like you to see and a nearby Arab neighborhood has some interesting residents in it.”

“No field trips to any ancient holy sites?”

“Would you like a field trip? What would you like to see? The Temple Mount? We could stop by the Mandalbaum Gate.It’s like its own little U.N. DMZ.”

“Can you really get me to the Temple Mount?”

“Yep. No one is allowed access to the Dome of the Rock, but if you’re interested in the supposed location of Mount Moriah, we can go.”

“My mother would never forgive me if I turned down that invitation,” Brad said, smiling.

“We’d better get the work out of the way, then. I have a feeling I don’t want to be on your mom’s bad side.”

Nate parked the Jeep in his usual spot in Shalhevet’s neighborhood. As he slung the radio pack onto his back, the straps became tangled. Almost immediately, Brad’s hands were there to smooth and straighten everything.

“How _did_ you ever manage on your own, LT?” Brad asked, a small smile on his mouth.

“I’m beginning to wonder that myself,” Nate replied, with a self-deprecating snort of laughter. This easy camaraderie he had with Brad warmed him and thrilled him in equal measure. It was as frightening as it was exciting.

As they walked, Nate said, “I’m going to introduce you to Shalhevet. She’s Ashkenazi, from Poland. Her lifestyle, as you’ll see, is vastly different from Raviv’s family. She’s also got some pretty strong opinions. She doesn’t distinguish between being Jewish and being Israeli, like many others do.”

The window was open to Shalhevet’s kitchen when they reached the house. Nate called to her through the window.

“ _Shalom, Nathaniel_ ,” she said, smiling widely, “you come in. I just made _hamentaschen_ with poppy seed.”

“I’ve brought someone new for you to meet,” Nate tilted his head in Brad’s direction. “Is there enough for two?”

“There’s always enough for two,” Shalhevet replied, waving them in.

Nate led Brad through the door and tall-ceilinged foyer. Shalhevet met them at the kitchen door, holding a plate heavily laden with golden brown pastries. When she caught sight of Brad, her mouth fell open and she made a sound of surprise.

“ _Eich korim lecha?_ ” she asked, holding the plate up for Brad.

Nate chuckled and answered for him, “Shalhevet, I’d like you to meet Staff Sergeant Colbert. He’s one of the new peacekeepers headed for Egypt. He has a few days before his convoy leaves so he came on patrol with me. Brad, I’d like to present Shalhevet Polaski.”

Brad smiled down at Shalhevet and selected a pastry. Nate then chose one for himself.

“ _Boker tov,_ Sergeant Colbert,” Shalhevet greeted. “Please call me Shalhevet.”

“ _Shalom,_ Shalhevet,” Brad replied. He held up the pastry in his hand. “And _todah_.”

“ _Bevakasha_ ,” she answered.

Nate bit into his pastry and moaned in pleasure. “Shalhevet, this is the best _hamentaschen_ I’ve ever tasted. Even better than I used to get at Goldman’s Bakery back home, and they’re the best kosher bakery in Baltimore.”

Brad’s eyes widened as he chewed his pastry. “Don’t tell my mother but this is better than she makes. She makes _hamentaschen_ with apricot, though. Still, this is better.”

Shalhevet’s eyes narrowed as she regarded Brad more closely. “Your mother makes _hamentaschen_? Would that be the reason your Hebrew is better than Nathaniel’s?”

Nate sucked in a surprised breath. Brad laughed.

“My great-grandparents were Russian Jews. They immigrated to America at the end of the last century.”

“They were wise to leave then. We who stayed lost so much,” said Shalvehet quietly. She shook her head a little and focused on Brad. “Now that you have come to Israel and seen the homeland, your family will move here?”

Brad’s expression remained polite but impassive.

“I don’t believe my family has plans to move to Israel, no.”

Shalhevet made a sound of annoyance. “The American Jews, why do they resist coming home? What do they have in America that isn’t waiting for them here in Israel? President Johnson does not care about them, he will not protect them. Only Israel will protect Jews; only Israel will keep us safe.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Brad said carefully.

Shalhevet set her plate down on the small kitchen table and sank heavily into a chair. “You boys sit down,” she gestured toward the other three chairs. “Your family at least supports the government of Israel, yes? They give all they can, all that is necessary to ensure our survival?”

“They do all they can, yes.”

“If the Jews in America don’t return to the homeland, they must help to fund our survival. It is their duty,” she stated emphatically.

“They understand their duty,” Brad said solemnly. “They’ve always helped me to understand the importance.”

Shalhevet patted Brad’s hand. “That is good,” she said with a smile. “Did Nathaniel tell you how I and my family came to the homeland?”

“He said that you’re Polish,” Brad replied.

She sat back in her chair, appreciative of her audience. “In 1940, my husband, my two sons and my young daughter were arrested by the Nazis and walled up in the large ghetto in Warsaw.”

Nate watched Brad’s expression grow dark. His jaw clenched. “How long were you there?”

“Two years,” she replied, her eyes distant as if remembering. “And then my family; we were among the first pulled from our beds in the middle of the night and packed into train cars. We were starving, we had no water. Many died before we even reached the camp. So many believed we were being sent to a work camp. I didn’t. I was right. It was a death camp.”

“Auschwitz?” Brad asked quietly.

Shalhevet nodded. “They kept my husband and my oldest son alive to use as labor. I don’t know why I was allowed to live. My second son and my daughter were killed as soon as they were taken from the train.”

“I’m very sorry, Shalhevet,” Brad said.

“ _Todah_ ,” she answered. “The Allies - the Russians - finally freed us but there was nowhere for us to go. The city was nearly destroyed by the Germans. Jews that we had called our friends had joined the Jewish police in the ghetto. They had collaborated against their own. I could not live around those people any longer. When the United Nations made the armistice and we had our homeland again, we came.”

“My father has an aunt who was in Auschwitz,” Brad said quietly. “My mother has a cousin who was in Bergen-Belsen.”

“What happened to these members of your family?”

“We brought them to America,” Brad answered quickly. “They came and lived with different people until they built their own lives. They both married and had children.”

Shalhevet made a sound of disapproval. “Why did you not all come to Israel? This is where our people belong. America is not the homeland.”

“I don’t know, ma’am. But I believe they all felt the need for stability. My family had comfortable homes where everyone felt safe, which was the most important thing right at that time.”

Nate hated to interrupt, but they needed to get moving on.

“I apologize, Shalhevet,” he said, “we really need to be going. We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

“Let me pack up some _hamentaschen_ for you boys to take with you,” she said, jumping to her feet.

They both tried to protest but as they reached the front door, Nate found a brown paper bag, filled with pastry, pushed into his hands.

“It is good you came today, Nathaniel,” she said. “Tomorrow I go to visit my son in Tel Aviv. His wife is taking me shopping. We’re to go to the cinema.”

“ _Todah_ ,” Nate replied, stepping into the street. “You won’t be here for the Independence Day celebration?”

Shalhevet pulled a face. “Eshkol has called for a small parade and celebration. He should be embracing our independence; it should be a big, loud, obvious display. No, I will go shopping in Tel Aviv.”

Nate bit back a smile at her continued disdain for the Prime Minister. “Well, enjoy your visit with your son.”

As they crossed through Jewish and Arab neighborhoods on their way to visit Ramiz, Nate kept a close eye on both the IDF troops and the Jordanian soldiers that they passed. He noticed Brad was equally aware and wary. The rising tension between governments could be seen in the postures and expressions of the soldiers facing off around them.

Ramiz and his eldest son were seated just outside the door of their house.

“ _As-Salāmu `alayka_ ,” Nate called.

  
“ _Wa `alayka s-salām_ ,” Ramiz replied, lifting a hand in greeting.  


Nate introduced Brad to the two men. Ramiz’s son excused himself almost immediately, so abruptly he bordered on rude.

“Please excuse him, Lieutenant,” Ramiz said with a wave of his hand. “He is upset about the ostentatious display the Jews are planning tomorrow.”

Nate nodded.

“Will you be staying in Jerusalem tomorrow?” he asked.

“We have nowhere else to go,” Ramiz replied. “I’m afraid if we leave our home the Israelis would take it from us, as they did the rest of my families’ homes.”

Nate turned to Brad and explained, “Ramiz’s family was removed from their homes and their farms just outside of Bethlehem when the armistice was signed. They were made refugees in the West Bank.” He turned back to Ramiz, “Did you ever locate them? I know you were looking.”

“I have reason to believe they’re in Amman.”

“That would make sense.” Nate nodded. “Jordan took in the majority of those who left Israel.

“Bah. Israel.” Ramiz spat into the dirt.

Nate decided it was prudent to change the subject. “How have things been here in the neighborhood? Have you seen any more Israeli soldiers than usual? What have the Jordanians been up to?”

“The Jews and the Jordanians,” Ramiz scoffed. “Always they are like two angry cats spitting at each other.”

Nate smiled. “I understand.”

“There will be little for them to celebrate when Nasser acts to defend Syria against the Zionist aggression.”

Nate’s entire body tensed at Ramiz’s words. “You’ve heard the rumor, then?” he asked. “It’s being spoken of in the streets?”

“That Israel will try to take the Golan Heights? They will not succeed. Syria will prevail and President Nasser will lead all of the Arab nations to a great victory.”

That was what Nate needed to know. “I hate to have to leave you so soon, Ramiz, but there is a lot I need to show Staff Sergeant Colbert. _Ma'a as-salaama_ ,” he said, and Brad nodded as well.

“ _Allah yasalmak,_ ” Ramiz replied with a small wave of his hand.

He and Brad headed down the dusty street. “Is it significant that the rumor of Israel moving to take the Golan Heights has reached the street?” he asked.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Nate confessed. “I do wonder if word is spreading to the street through the IDF, who are reportedly harassing Syrian troops, or if whispers are coming out of the Knesset itself. The latter would indicate a clear intent, while the former could just be the result of aggressive troops.”

“Is it me, or are the Palestinians only slightly more tolerant of the Jordanians than they are of the Israelis?” asked Brad.

“Only slightly,” Nate confirmed. “They hate the Jordanians a little less because they’re at least Arab. They still view Jordan as an occupying force in the land of Palestine. Did you notice how Ramiz reacted to the use of the name Israel?”

“Yes,” replied Brad. “He obviously barely recognizes the authority of the Israeli government. He considers this land to be Palestine and bristles at calling it by its Jewish name.” He paused as he closely watched a pair of passing Jordanian Legionnaires then asked, “Would any of this have been prevented if the two sides had accepted the UN’s proposal for a two state solution back in ’48?”

“Most likely not,” Nate said with frustration. He’d understood the flaw in the plan when he’d read about it in school. “The larger population, Palestinian, would have been partitioned the smaller portion of land. The smaller population, Jewish, was to be given the larger grant of land.”

“The Palestinians objected on principle.” It wasn’t a question. “They made it nearly impossible to negotiate, to the point Israel took up arms and carved out the land they wanted.”

An old, familiar frustration flared inside Nate. “Leaving the Palestinians as refugees.”

“Sadly, that’s true. What about Jerusalem itself?” Brad asked. “What difficulties does UNTSO face, trying to keep it neutral for all parties to come and go at will?”

“I think you can guess the answer to that. Both sides believe Jerusalem is theirs by divine right and they don’t want the other anywhere near the city.” Nate knew his answer was factual, yet still didn’t get any further than the surface. “It’s all too complicated for a single afternoon discussion.”

“Talk about a city divided,” he heard Brad muse.

“And yet, they all still have more in common than they will ever admit to,” sighed Nate and Brad made a sound of agreement.

Nate considered where to go next and realized he was hungry. “I’m ready to stop for lunch. How about you?”

“That actually sounds pretty good,” Brad replied. “Did you pack C-rations or do you lunch with the natives?”

Nate returned Brad’s playful grin. “It’s encouraged that we mingle with the populace as much as possible. We pick up on gossip and it makes us seem more accessible and less threatening.”

“How much less threatening could you possibly be, dressed in a baby blue beret and completely unarmed?” Brad’s teasing was made all the more humorous by the fact that he himself wore a baby blue flak helmet.

“While you do have a point, I remind you I’m a six-foot-two-inch United States Marine. It takes a little more than a baby blue hat to keep the civilians of Jerusalem from being intimidated.”

Brad looked down at Nate pointedly, his left brow lifting. “Yes, you’re such a giant. It’s a wonder people don’t run from you, screaming in fear.”

Nate laughed outwardly. “You’re what? Six-three?”

“Six-four.”

Nate whistled. “Forgotten to duck yet, going through a doorway?”

“Not yet. The fact you asked tells me you _have_.”

“More than once.”

Brad laughed in response and Nate felt warmth unfurl in his chest and coil its way down into his groin.

The market was busy. Nate and Brad were careful of the small children running around it as they walked through. Each vendor set a table in front of their stall and stacked a selection of their wares on top of it. Shoppers stopped to look over the tables, further impeding the flow of foot traffic. Nate pushed through a knot of people, Brad right behind him. The vendor stalls themselves were as filled with people as the outside street. It looked just like what it was; a bustling hub of commerce.

Nate stopped in front of a small, open-air café. There were several patrons but still plenty of empty tables, and Nate chose one near the stone walkway so that he could easily see people coming and going. He slid the radio pack off and set it in the empty chair beside himself.

“The food here is excellent,” he said to Brad, who took the other seat beside Nate, rather than across the table. He knew it was so Brad could also keep an eye on their surroundings, but he couldn’t help but be pleased at the close proximity. “It’s a Jewish establishment. I never asked if you keep kosher.”

“Not unless my mother makes me, but I appreciate the consideration.” Brad removed his blue helmet and set it on the table.

A teenage girl took their order. Nate thought he remembered that she was the owner’s daughter. She was still of school age; he wondered why she wasn’t there.

After the waitress dropped their bottles of water off, Brad leaned back in his chair and studied Nate closely for several long moments. Nate returned his frank gaze, even though he felt self-conscious and oddly vulnerable, as if Brad could somehow see his thoughts. “Where did you go college,” Brad suddenly asked.

“Dartmouth,” Nate answered. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but that wasn’t it.

Brad whistled appreciatively. “I expected NYU or Northwestern. Maybe UCLA.”

Universities that were all in large, metropolitan cities; cities that would have access to different subcultures. Homosexual subcultures. Nate took a breath.

“I’ve visited New York and Chicago,” Nate said, testing the waters of the conversation. “I haven’t made it to L.A., yet, but I did make it to San Francisco.”

“When did you know those were cities that held attractions you were interested in?”

Nate paused, watching Brad closely. His expression was impassive and his posture was relaxed. Still, Nate could feel the coiled tension. Anxious anticipation rolled off of him in waves. Brad only _looked_ as though this was a casual conversation.

He took a deep breath. “My freshman year, I took intro psych. The library had a current copy of the _Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders._ Quite by accident I stumbled across the entry for homosexuality.” Nate glanced around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “It called me a deviant, but the fact that there was an entry meant I wasn’t _alone._ ”

Brad nodded his understanding, his expression softening slightly.  


Nate felt a weight he hadn’t known he was carrying lift from him. “It wasn’t long after that I learned something valuable; like always finds like.”  


Brad’s quizzical brow lifted again.  


“Somehow - be it through secret code, word of mouth or neon lights - people with the same beliefs, interests or needs always find each other. We learn to identify each other and we find ways to assemble and socialize.”  


Brad’s eyes narrowed as if he were giving Nate’s words careful consideration. “You can see it here in Jerusalem. One neighborhood is completely Jewish. The next block over, an entire neighborhood will be Palestinian. Another one will be Moroccan. The Ashkenazi separate themselves from the Mizrahi, but each group is strongly insular.”  


“The U.N. compound is the same,” Brad observed.  


“It is. The Canadians keep to themselves, as do the Americans, the Aussies, the Swedes. All of us have done it. Even though we all work for the UN, those of you attached to UNEF keep yourselves apart from UNTSO. But you know where to find your own group, and how to get what you need within that group.”  


“Are you saying you found other deviants like yourself were hiding out on the liberal campus of your Ivy League university?” Brad asked, the left corner of his mouth lifting teasingly.  


“That’s what I’m saying,” Nate replied quietly.  


“Were there a lot of you?”  


Nate snorted a laugh. “We’re everywhere,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I made several very good, lasting friendships. I learned, unequivocally, what I am. I learned my life was going to be infinitely more difficult because of it.”  


“Did you learn anything pleasant?” Brad asked with feigned annoyance.  


Nate felt himself blush and was surprised. He hadn’t blushed in years. The idea of telling Brad about all the mind-blowing things he’d learned he enjoyed had his cock starting to fill and press uncomfortably against his uniform pants. His brain feeding him images of Brad _participating_ in some of those activities made it worse.  


“I’ll take that as a resounding yes,” Brad said, hiding his smile behind his water bottle.  


“Anyway, the genie was out of the bottle at that point,” Nate concluded. “I’d been out into the big bad world and discovered I wasn’t alone and that I’m not a deviant. Now, I use my contacts to find places in different locations where I’m welcome and can get my needs met.”  


“I haven’t been to San Francisco, but I have been to L.A.,” Brad said. “Is what they say about bath houses true?”  


Nate nodded enthusiastically. “That’s a bit extreme for my tastes regularly, a little too anonymous, but I can’t deny it was a good time. There’s one in New York, now, did you know?”  


Brad shook his head. “Last time I was there it was only the dance clubs in Greenwich.”  


Nate smiled knowingly. “Christopher Street?”  


“Yes. The Stonewall Inn,” Brad said.  


Ah, the Stonewall. Nate had had some memorable experiences in their back room. But this wasn’t the time to live in the past, not with Brad sitting right here, watching him, the humor evident in his expression. Their waitress returned at that moment with their food. Once they were alone again, Nate felt loathe to steer the conversation to less pleasant territory, especially since they were eating, but there was a question he needed to ask. “I gather you have no intention of ever telling your family.”  


Brad took a deep breath. “I don’t plan to, no. There are times, however, I suspect it wouldn’t be as poorly received as I assume.”  


“Really?” Nate was surprised and a little envious. He’d long ago come to the conclusion that his own parents would disown him if they ever found out. They probably wouldn’t try to have him incarcerated or institutionalized, but but he doubted any of them would speak to him again.  


“I was a challenge to my parents growing up,” Brad said. “I spent my high school years in a military academy.”  


Nate tried to picture a rebellious teenaged Brad. “I have difficulty picturing you as anything other than well-behaved and squared away.”  


Brad rolled his eyes as if he were accustomed to that reaction. “I thought I was the next James Dean. The hair, the attitude; I rolled up the sleeves of my undershirts and didn’t go anywhere without my leather jacket.”  


When Nate looked closer, he saw the slight resemblance that still lingered. A quick calculation told him Brad’s idol would have met his tragic end during a very pivotal time in Brad’s youth.  


“I even have his love of very fast cars,” Brad continued, “I kept getting caught boosting Corvettes and driving them too fast down streets where I could have caused a lot of harm. My parents sent me to military school before they found themselves visiting me in juvie.”  


“It seems like they made the right choice,” observed Nate.  


“They did,” Brad agreed. “Now I’m more Chesty Puller than James Dean.”  


Nate smiled, a hunch suddenly occurring to him. “What kind of car do you drive now that you’re legal?”  


A joyful smile slowly lit Brad’s features. “I own a 1966 Ford Mustang Fastback. It’s got a 280 cubic inch V8 with four on the floor.”  


“Of course you, do,” Nate chuckled. “Let me guess; it’s either black or red. I’m going with black.”  


“You would be right,” Brad said with a nod.  


“So, military school kept you out of trouble with the law,” said Nate, “but you probably learned a few things that your parents wouldn’t be quite so pleased about.”  


“True. A thousand teenage boys with raging hormones; all away from home, sleeping in dormitories and sharing bathing facilities. Even the guys who really preferred girls would get up to certain things when the lights went out.”  


“Sounds like the Corps,” Nate said carefully, wondering how he would have fared in that setting. If he’d had to share facilities with Brad, Nate imagined he’d have gotten up to quite a lot of things.  


“It was inevitable that someone got caught from time to time,” Brad continued. “But it wasn’t a big deal. Even in the instances where parents were informed, it was all explained away as boys being boys.”  


“They’re just confused kids surrounded by nothing but other boys and they’ll straighten out as soon as they’re in the real world?” Nate asked.  


“Exactly. When I was still in school, a friend of mine was caught just before summer break. When we came back in the fall, he was different. Over time he let certain details slip and I guess his parents had had him committed for the summer. They’d administered electric shock therapy to try to cure him.”  


“Jesus,” Nate said. He sighed. “I had a friend who was given insulin shock therapy when he made the mistake of telling his parents.”  


Brad nodded. “I went home after boot camp and my mother told me about one guy I’d graduated with. His parents had committed him to a program where they were trying something new called ‘aversion therapy’. Basically, they subjected him to certain stimulus and then tortured him for reacting to the ‘wrong’ ones. Of course they didn’t call it torture but that’s what it was.”  


“Do I want the details?”  


“No,” Brad shook his head emphatically, “you really don’t.”  


“What makes you think your parents wouldn’t have something like that done to you?”  


“Things they’ve said when they told me these stories. It’s like they wanted me to know they disapproved of treating a person that way, no matter what. They don’t approve of my lifestyle, that much is clear, but they don’t seem inclined to risk my freedom, my health or my sanity.”  


Nate was silent for a long while as he thought about all he’d learned about Brad. He was more than a little stunned as he realized how much of himself he’d shared. He couldn’t remember ever being this forthcoming with a single person.  


“When was the last time you visited a _friendly_ establishment,” Nate asked, even as he wondered why it even mattered to him.  


“I was in New York just before coming here,” Brad answered, looking directly at Nate. “I knew I had to get it out of my system. Opportunities weren’t going to be abundant in the desert. I didn’t know I was going to meet _you_.”  


Nate swallowed, his throat as dry as dust. He took a drink and hoped Brad didn’t see how his hand shook. He had the answers to all his questions but no idea what to do about it.  


Brad snorted suddenly. Nate looked at him sharply, taken aback by the dark expression Brad wore.  


“I apologize for that last comment, sir,” Brad said, looking everywhere but at Nate. “I’ll keep that to myself in the future.”  


“No,” Nate blurted, a little too loud. He glanced around them before lowering his voice. “It’s not an unwelcome sentiment. I just didn’t expect to be reciprocated. I’m not sure what to do with the knowledge.”  


Brad’s expressed smoothed, and he visibly relaxed. “One careful step at a time?”  


“Yes,” Nate said. He held Brad`s gaze, everything else fading away for a minute as they looked at each other.  


“We should get back out on patrol,” said Nate reluctantly, gesturing to the waitress for their bill.  


Brad stood and retrieved his helmet, securing it beneath his chin. He stepped back to let Nate pass, but not far enough back that Nate could pass him without touching. As warm as the Jerusalem sunshine was, Nate’s body burned even hotter in all the spots that had pressed against Brad.  


The sun was low on the horizon when Nate pulled them into the U.N. compound. Brad climbed out of the Jeep and stretched.  


“I need to check in with Pappy and collect the information I had them compile,” he said, stripping off his helmet.  


Nate tugged off his beret and scratched his blunt nails over his skull. That damn thing always made his head itch. He inclined his head for Brad to precede him.  


They found the UNEF Marines gathered outside one of the small houses, M16s and sidearms broken down and being cleaned.  


Sergeant Patrick spotted them as they approached. He grabbed up a folder full of papers and came toward them. “As you asked,” he said, handing over the folder.  


Brad flipped the folder open and started to read.  


“That right there is the rough schedule you asked for,” Pappy explained in his languorous Southern drawl.“Beneath that are the maps of the A.O. The rest are various notes and reports the guys all compiled.”  


“This is great work, Pappy,” Brad said with a nod. “I’ll go over it tonight. Tomorrow the Sector Commander will give me input and we’ll take it from there.”  


“Hey, Brad, I wanna go on patrol, too,” Ray called from his place in the shade of the porch. “It’s fuckin’ boring here all day.”  


“Scuttlebutt says General Bull is resisting activating UNEF in Jerusalem,” Pappy told Brad. “At the same time, things are getting hotter in Egypt and our departure date is possibly being delayed.”  


“The natives are restless,” Brad muttered.  


“That they are,” Pappy concurred.  


“Seriously, dawg,” Poke called, “If we’re going to be here indefinitely, wouldn’t it be better to have us contributing constructively to the overall mission of the UN? Cause otherwise, some of those Canadian Ferrets just might disappear on joy rides.”  


When Brad glanced at him, Nate could tell he was trying not to smile. “What do you think, Lieutenant? Can we find a way to keep these degenerates out of trouble?”  


“I think it’s worth mentioning to Captain Patterson,” Nate replied, feigning graveness he didn’t feel. “Otherwise the issue of a divided Jerusalem may become moot when the U.S. Marines just take it over.”  


“Fuck yeah, we would,” Ray shouted, “then everybody would have to play nice in their mosques and synagogues or we’d kick their asses.”  


“I’ll see what I can do, gents,” Brad said to the assembled Marines and was met with muted cheers.  


As they headed back to Government House, Nate asked, “I wonder if the other countries are having the same issues with their troops?”  


“Not my problem, sir,” Brad said firmly. “If they’re happy to sit on their lazy asses and be told what to do, they’re welcome to it. If they had the same sense of initiative, they’d be U.S. Marines. But they don’t, so they’re not.”  


Nate chuckled.  


They found Patterson in his office. “Nate, how’d it go today?” he asked without preamble.  


“The Israelis believe Prime Minister Eshkol isn’t planning a large enough Independence Day celebration and the Arabs don’t want any celebration at all.”  


“No signs of unrest, though?” Patterson asked. “No indications there might be violence during the parade?”  


“None. However, the rumor that Israel is planning a move into the Golan has hit the street, at least in the Arab neighborhoods.”  


“Other observers are reporting the same.”  


“Also, I believe Staff Sergeant Colbert has rough versions of those schedules you asked for this morning. Any word on if the U.N. is going to bow to U.S. pressure and have UNEF patrol Jerusalem?”  


“General Bull is resisting it. I think it might be a good idea but I’m being over ruled.”  


“The longer the U.S. Marines sit idle, sir, the more anxious they’re becoming. Is there any other way we might utilize them?”  


Patterson’s eyes narrowed as he considered Nate thoughtfully. “You know, I think there might. Let me consult with Godfather and I’ll get back to you.”  


“Thank you, sir.”  


“Staff Sergeant, think you can stand spending the day with Lieutenant Fick again?”  


“Sir?” Brad asked, his tone echoing Nate’s confusion.  


“A request, this time, not an order. The highest ranking officials in the Israeli government are going to be in Jerusalem for the parade tomorrow and Nate’s scheduled to circulate among them, be the face of the U.N. and see what intel he can gather at the same time. We all know tensions are high in Jerusalem and we don’t want Nate caught in the crossfire if the Arabs make a move against Israeli officials. I’d like it if you could be there as an extra set of eyes and ears.”  


“Of course, sir,” Brad answered. “That makes sense. I’d be honored to watch the Lieutenant’s back tomorrow.”  


“Thank you, Staff Sergeant.”  


“Do I get a say?” Nate asked.  


“No,” Patterson replied. “Why? Tired of Sergeant Colbert?”  


“No, sir,” Nate said. “But – “  


Patterson held up a hand. “I’m kidding, Nate. I know you don’t think you’re in any danger out there but we don’t agree. If you’ve developed a comfortable working relationship with Colbert, we’re going to take advantage of it.”  


“Yes, sir,” Nate capitulated. He didn’t think he needed the escort but he certainly didn’t mind Brad’s presence during the day.  


“Sergeant, you’re authorized to carry a sidearm tomorrow,” Patterson said. “General Bull was very reluctant to authorize that much, so I didn’t push for an M16.”  


Nate was surprised. He realized the Security Council must be hearing things they weren’t picking up on in the street, if they were willing to arm Brad to keep an eye on Nate.

“Can I assume there’d be no objection to the two of us wearing flak vests?” Brad asked.  


“None at all. See Sergeant Wynn for what you need.”  


“Thank you, sir. And I’ll have the final patrol schedules for you in the morning as agreed.”  


“Very good. Anything else, gentlemen?”  


The meeting over, they left the office together. Brad said, “When I get these schedules completed, I’m still going to need someone in clerical to type them up and possibly mimeograph them. Should I tap the UNEF secretaries?”  


“Those girls are probably overwhelmed. This is a project for the UNTSO Sector Commander so I’ll hook you up with our secretaries.” Nate paused to consider. “In fact, I know just who to ask. Gunnilla is scheduled to staff the office over night. It’s like a tomb in here and the girls are always looking for things to keep them occupied, but Gunnilla is especially helpful.”  


“Especially helpful?” Brad asked dubiously. “Should I be worried?”  


Nate chuckled. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response. But, just to clarify, she doesn’t mind interruptions or last minute projects like some of the other girls do.”  


“Ah. Understood.” Brad’s smile was devilish and Nate felt fission of electricity run up his spine. He smiled up at Brad and noted with satisfaction, how Brad’s eyes immediately dropped to his mouth and lingered.  


“I have to work on my after-action report in the UNTSO admin office,” Nate finally focused enough to say. “You’re welcome to work on your own paperwork in there, as well.”  


“I should go see the Gunny and check out the equipment I need,” Brad replied, gesturing further down the hall toward the UNEF offices.  


Nate indicated the UNTSO office door. “I’ll be in here. Come find me when you’re done.”  


Whitmer and Eckhoff were both seated at desks, typing intently.  


“Hey, Nate,” Whitmer greeted. “Smooth day?”  


“As smooth as can be expected, given the current climate,” he replied. “Are Schwetje and McGraw already done with their reports?”  


Eckhoff snorted derisively. “Those two have trouble navigating down this hallway. They let their reports back up until Patterson has to threaten to NJP them.”  


“Of course then, they have to get us to cover their patrols for the two days it takes them to get caught up,” Whitmer added, shaking his head in disgust.  


Nate sighed, sinking down into an uncomfortable desk chair. They lapsed into an easy silence. The only sounds were the loud clacking of typewriter keys and the occasional swear word.  


Whitmer finished first, Eckhoff shortly after. Nate acknowledged each of their well wishes for the parade the next day.  


Once he was alone, Nate found it difficult to concentrate. Every creak of Government House, every echo in a distant hallway had him glancing up in anticipation of Brad joining him.  


Yet he startled a few minutes later when he realized Brad was already halfway across the room. His entrance had been silent.  


“Got everything you need?” Nate asked.  


Brad held up the Browning 1911, tightly secured in its holster. “Do you need to check one of these out?” he asked, holding up an olive-drab flak jacket.  


“I have one already issued,” Nate replied. “I’ll bring it along in the Jeep tomorrow.”  


Brad pulled up a chair and sat down at the side of Nate’s desk. “You’ll wear it when we leave the compound,” he said firmly.  


“That’s not necessary,” Nate murmured, turning back to his report.  


“I’m fully aware that you still outrank me,” Brad said quietly, spreading papers out in front of him and beginning to scratch out a schedule grid. “But your own CO has tasked _me_ with your safety and well being tomorrow. You’ll wear the vest, Nate.”  


It was on the tip of his tongue to argue but when Nate looked up at Brad, the words stuck in his throat. Brad was watching him with an intense expression; firm but imploring at the same time. Nate gave in. “Fine,” he said, pressing his lips together in annoyance.  


Brad’s relief was evident, and Nate couldn’t help but smile at him.  


“Get your schedule done, Staff Sergeant, so we can go sweet-talk Gunnilla and then get some dinner.”  


Brad smiled before turning back to his schedules. “Aye, aye, sir.”   
  



	4. Chapter 4

**_Monday, 15 May, 1967_   
**

_**Hebrew University, Jerusalem  
1500 hours**   
_

  
Stepping out of the Jeep and glancingaround once more, Nate was again amazed at the hundreds of cars parked around the Hebrew University stadium. Inside was a viewing stand, from which Prime Minister Eshkol, and other government officials would view the Independence Day parade. Nate had heard a rumor that former Prime Minister Ben-Guerion was boycotting the parade, saying its adherence to the terms of the 1948 Armistice was proof that Eshkol was too timid.

The GOI was fracturing and Nate feared the results would mean war.

He hated wearing his flak vest. It made him feel bulky, awkward and hot. Brad had it worse though, as the high collar of the vest interfered with his helmet.

The radio pack didn’t fit over the vest, to make matters worse.

“Shit,” he said. “Brad, can you help me loosen the straps? With my flak vest, they’re too tight.”

Brad quickly adjusted the straps of the radio until they were as comfortable as they were going to get. He clipped the handset to Nate’s shoulder and adjusted the volume. “Good to go.”

“Thanks,” Nate said. “I don’t see the point of wearing this thing.” He gestured at the flak vest. “It’s not like it’ll stop a bullet, it’s only good for bomb fragments.”

Brad looked at him like he was an obtuse child. “The chances of someone taking shots today are slim. What they _will_ try to do is blow something up. The parade grandstand where the Prime Minister of Israel will be seated is an excellent target, for example. You must have seen the impact of a frag bomb in ‘Nam, Nate.”

“Alright, point taken,” Nate said, knowing he sounded churlish.

Brad went up to a couple of well-armed IDF soldiers and explained the change in U.N. SOP for the day. They exchanged a look when Brad explained his armed UNEF status, but didn’t protest.

The radio on Nate’s shoulder crackled. He listened to the transmission and whistled. Brad raised an eyebrow at him. “Government House is estimating that two hundred thousand Israelis have come to Jerusalem for the parade.”

“They could just count vehicles, not heads,” Brad said dryly. The narrow streets had been flooded with cars, forcing them to progress slowly. The trip to the university had taken far longer than normal.

The stadium was filled to capacity. The sound of the crowd was already close to deafening. The IDF soldiers made way for them as they walked toward the viewing stands, the blue of their hats and vests clearing their path of citizens.

Nate was very aware of Brad’s proximity. It was like having a solid, secure wall at his back; an armed and dangerous wall. When the crowd grew heavier and Nate was jostled, Brad would lay a hand on his shoulder. Sometimes the hand was to steady him, sometimes it was to prevent them being separated in the teeming mass of bodies. Brad was taking this protection detail seriously. Nate still doubted its necessity but that didn’t stop him liking the feeling of Brad at his back.

When they approached the steps of the viewing stands, two IDF soldiers stepped aside to let them pass. Reaching the viewing level, Nate took note of the large number of empty chairs. He slowly approached Prime Minister Eshkol, seated next to Major General Yitzhak Rabin. He quickly noted that Ben-Guerion was not present.

“ _Shalom,_ Prime Minister,” Nate greeted.

Eshkol rose to his feet and took Nate’s offered hand. “ _Shalmon_ , …”

Nate could tell the Prime Minister recognized him but couldn’t place him. The U.N. blue just wasn’t enough when the city was crawling with UNTSO military observers. “Lieutenant Fick, sir,” he provided.

“Ah yes,” Eshkol said, shaking his hand vigorously. “We’ve met several times at the government offices when you’ve had meetings with Minister Eban.”

“We have indeed, Prime Minister,” Nate replied. “I’d like to introduce Staff Sergeant Colbert,” Nate said, indicating Brad, who stood several feet away. “He’s with UNEF.”

“Oh, yes,” Eshkol said, drawing Brad forward to shake his hand. “You _must_ be the one Moshe Raviv met the other day. He said Lieutenant Fick was accompanied by a giant of a Marine.”

“I had the honor, Mr. Prime Minister,” Brad replied carefully.

“What brings the U.N. out to watch our parade,” Major General Rabin asked, shaking Nate’s hand. “The Prime Minister has taken great criticism for ensuring it does not violate the terms of the armistice. Surely the U.N. is not distrustful of his word.”

“Not at all,” Nate replied jovially. “I’m here simply to observe the festivities. Our concern is more that you’ll be able to celebrate in peace, rather than that Israel would break the peace.”

“That is all Israel wishes,” Eshkol interjected, “to be left in peace.”

“I understand,” Nate said.

“Lieutenant Fick.”

Nate turned at the sound of his name to see Foreign Minister Eban walking across the platform.

“Foreign Minister,” he greeted cautiously.

“I understand we missed each other, the other day,” Eban said with a wide smile.

“We did, sir. I was disappointed.” Nate was even more sure now that Eban had been avoiding him that day.

“As was I.” Eban turned to Brad. “You must be the UNEF Sergeant, Deputy Minister Raviv mentioned.”

“I am,” Brad confirmed. “An honor to meet you, Foreign Minister.”

“Will you join us, Lieutenant?” Eshkol asked, indicating several empty seats.

“Thank you, but we don’t want to intrude.” Nate said, indicating that he and Brad would join the crowd at the base of the stands.

As they headed away from the front of the stage, Nate keyed his radio mic. “Government House; Hitman-Two.”

“ _Go for Government House_ ,” came the reply.

“Priority message for the Sector Commander: Ben-Guerion _has_ boycotted the parade. How copy?”

“ _Solid copy, Hitman-Two. Will advise Sector Commander ASAP.”_

“Roger that. Hitman-Two out.”

“Why is Ben-Guerion boycotting?” Brad’s voice was right beside Nate’s ear, his breath warm, and it sent a shiver down Nate’s spine.

“Ben-Guerion is a hard-liner and still wields considerable influence in the GOI,” Nate explained, keeping his voice low and turning his head slightly to keep from being overheard. “It’s generally believed Eshkol is simply holding the office of Prime Minister in trust until Yitzhak Rabin is ready to take power. Because Eshkol wouldn’t allow the parade to be a show of IDF force, Ben-Guerion has basically issued a vote of no confidence against him.”

Turning back to watch as the parade began, Nate caught Eshkol and Rabin sitting close together, surrounded on all sides by members of the Cabinet. Their faces were close and they spoke to each other, intense and earnest. The sight made Nate distinctly uneasy.

“How has the IDF made sure the parade won’t violate the ’49 armistice?” Brad’s breath ghosted over the shell of Nate’s ear and he battled the urge to turn and capture Brad’s lips with his own.

“No planes, no heavy armor and no artillery,” he replied. “The Security Council reprimanded the Israelis for the 1961 parade. In any event, the fact the parade is in Jerusalem is a tacit claim to the city as the Israeli capitol, which is antagonistic all on its own.”

On the field of the stadium, a band began to play.

“ _It’s an invasion force_ ,” a desperate, hysterical voice came over the radio making Nate jump. “ _The IDF is fielding an invasion force and they’re disguising it as a parade._ ”

Nate rolled his eyes in disgust. He had no idea where Dave McGraw was, but there was no way he was seeing an invasion force among the features of the parade.

“ _We need to get to high ground,_ ” Schwetje entered the radio melee. “ _We need to establish accurate force deployment levels._ ”

All Nate could see was infantry and light armored units parading before a happy, cheering crowd.

“ _David’s Tower,_ ” McGraw said, “ _Everyone head for the Old City. We’ll get to the top of David’s Tower and take an accurate count of the IDF resources._ ”

Schwetje acknowledged the transmission, but no other observer did, to Nate’s relief. He relaxed a little, realizing that McGraw and Schwetje would at least be out of the way, and less likely to create a panic in the streets, if they were occupied with counting from atop the Tower.

A pause in the radio chatter gave Nate an opening. “Government House; Hitman-Two.”

“ _Go for Government House._ ”

“Priority transmission for the Sector Commander; no foreign envoys are in attendance. Repeat; no foreign envoys are in attendance. How copy?”

“ _Solid copy. Government House out._ ”

Nate turned to Brad, ready to explain before he was asked; “None of the Ambassadors from any country with an embassy in Israel are here at the parade. No nation recognizes Jerusalem as the capital of Israel. By no-showing, they reinforce that message.”

“They’ve all sort of slapped Israel across the wrist,” Brad observed.

“Exactly.”

“ _Hitman-Two; Assassin-Actual_.”

Surprise made Nate fumble with the handset. “This is Hitman-Two-Actual.”

“ _Be advised, we’ve just learned that Egypt is moving a full force into the Sinai Peninsula along Israel’s western frontier._ ”

Nate’s heart leaped into his throat. He stepped closer to Brad so he could hear the incoming transmission.

“Roger that. Is it troop movements only? Or are there signs of heavy equipment?” Was Egypt mounting an assault or was this more posturing?

“ _Trucks have been observed towing artillery. Size of the unit has been placed at a full army division._ ”

Nate swore silently. Suddenly, the intense conversation between Eshkol and Rabin took on new meaning. “Is it known if Eshkol is aware of the Egyptian escalation?”

“ _The unit rolled through Cairo in broad daylight, right through the embassy section. It’s likely Eshkol is aware._ ”

“Roger that. I’ll keep a close eye.”

“ _Solid copy. Assassin out._ ”

President Shazar walked onto the stadium’s field, accompanied by mounted troops. Nate kept one eye on the parade and another on Eshkol and Rabin. He was convinced they were planning counter moves to Egypt’s show of aggression.

The mounted troops moved off the field and were replaced by a show of torches, lights, standard bearers and a group of soldiers in formation.

“What’s the plan, sir?” Brad asked, still standing at Nate’s back.

“Keep an eye on Eshkol and see how he behaves. Where he goes and what he does may give some clue as to how he plans to respond.”

As the parade ended and aids moved in to escort the Prime Minister and the Major General from the viewing stand, Eshkol leaned over to Rabin one final time. He spoke briefly, Rabin acknowledged sharply and both men left the stands.

“What should Eshkol’s next move be?” Brad asked.

“A reception hosted by Teddy Kolleck, the Mayor of Jerusalem.”

“And if he no-shows?”

“Hope we aren’t on the eve of war.”

Eshkol was out of sight by the time they reached field level. Nate headed straight for the Jeep. He stripped off the radio and set it in the back seat, just as a scuffle broke out in the stadium parking lot.

Nate started toward the car, around which several people were gathered. His immediate thought was to make his presence known; to let everyone know the U.N. was watching which meant the world was watching. As he drew closer, it became evident the confrontation was escalating. Suddenly, a strong hand gripped his arm.

“Hold up, Nate,” Brad said, pulling Nate backward.

Nate tugged against Brad’s restraining hand. “A U.N. presence may keep things from escalating.”

“Fine,” Brad said, stepping in front of Nate. “Just don’t get too close without doing a threat assessment. In fact, go get them to help.” He gestured toward a group of officers with the Jerusalem police force who didn’t seem to have seen the growing fray.

Nate realized Brad was right. He was assuming it was a relatively benign situation. For a moment, he watched Brad stride forward with a force and confidence Nate had rarely seen, even in other Marines, before he jogged in the direction of the clustered police officers.

Nate followed in the wake of the police and when they reached the spot of the confrontation, Brad was addressing the combatants in Hebrew. There were shouts of outrage. Nate saw a well-dressed woman lunge toward a male Orthodox Jew, waving a tattered scrap of fabric. A man, presumably her husband, restrained her. A police officer turned on the Orthodox man, barking orders at him.

Nate followed the officer who approached the woman. When he asked her what had happened, she waved the cloth in front of his face. He took it from her and draped it open across his hands.

The fabric was an Israeli flag, like hundreds of others adorning the cars in Jerusalem. Only, this one had been defaced by a swastika.

Nate glanced up at the Orthodox man who was evading the police, backing away from them, still shouting in Hebrew and gesticulating wildly. Nate didn’t have to be told what had happened.

“This is an abomination!” the woman screeched. “This is barbaric. I am a survivor of the Holocaust. Jews should not do this to one another.”

Nate glanced at Brad who was pacing restlessly around the car, claiming his space and ensuring no one came any closer to them; to Nate.

“I’m very sorry, ma’am,” said the police officer. “He’s Orthodox.”

The woman appeared puzzled at this explanation.

“They don’t recognize the state of Israel,” Nate interjected “This was just his way of speaking out.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she cried. “We’re all Jews. Israel is the homeland for all of us. The Arabs hate us enough; we should not treat each other this way.”

The woman’s husband shushed her, trying to lead her away toward their car. Nate glanced around; the Orthodox man was nowhere to be seen.

“We are not even from Jerusalem,” the woman was sadly telling the police officer. “We are only here for Independence Day.”

“I’m very sorry this happened to you,” said the officer. “Look, this officer will help you. You have the flag and can describe the man who did this.”

Nate had no hope anything would come of the situation, but perhaps having it taken seriously would calm the woman. The last thing Jerusalem needed today was contagious hysteria. When a higher ranking officer joined the group, the woman wound herself up to tell her story once again. Things were calming down and Nate felt a measure of relief.

Finally, Brad began to tug Nate back toward their Jeep. “Come on, Nate, you have bigger things to deal with.”

“You don’t consider that a big deal?” Nate demanded, mildly surprised at Brad’s words.

“Not as big a deal as preventing war breaking out in the Middle East, no,” said Brad calmly. Nate deflated, knowing Brad was right. “I will never understand that kind of hatred,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Brad said, giving Nate’s shoulder a brief squeeze before he stepped around the Jeep to the passenger side.

At Mayor Kolleck’s reception, it was evident that Prime Minister Eshkol was not in attendance.

“Shit,” Nate breathed as he glanced around the room. “Not good. This is not good.” He immediately headed back out to the Jeep.

Brad held the radio for him as Nate called in to Government House. “Government House; Hitman-Two.”

“ _Hitman-Two, go._ ”

“Prime Minister Eshkol is not at the Mayor’s reception. No sign of him, or of Major General Rabin.”

“ _Hitman-Two-Actual, this is Assassin-Actual; Israel has ordered army armored units into the Sinai to reinforce the front; break._ ”

“Damn it,” Nate growled. Patterson’s transmission continued, “ _Eshkol has issued a statement directed at Egypt, assuring them they have no aggressive intentions toward any Arab state._ ”

Nate sighed heavily then keyed the mic. “I’m no longer certain Israel is being truthful,” he said darkly.

“ _Understood. Keep your eyes open and see what information you might be able to dig up. Government House will pass along any updates as they’re received._ ”

“Roger that,” Nate acknowledged. “Hitman-Two out.”

He listened as Captain Patterson immediately raised Whitmer on the air and ordered him to the Mandalbaum Gate, ostensibly to take the pulses of the troops stationed there. Open hostilities in an area that self-policed as relatively neutral could be a harbinger of greater hostilities to come.

“Let’s head to the Temple Mount,” Nate declared, deciding it might be a good idea to see how the Jordanian troops were behaving in this shifting situation.

“Aye, aye, sir,” Brad said, climbing into the Jeep.

The Temple Mount was the single most important religious site in Jerusalem, and quite possibly in the world. It formed the northern portion of a very narrow spur of hill that sloped sharply from north to south. Nate and Brad had been here briefly, the other day, when he’d brought Brad to the Western Wall, but the Wall was located in the southern section of the western flank.

Nate forced the Jeep over walkways and berms, getting as close to the Temple Mount as possible, given that nearly every conceivable parking place was filled by the influx of people to Jerusalem for Independence Day. He tried never to abuse the power of the U.N. but today, they couldn’t afford a long walk. He needed to see what was going on in the Old City.

“The Temple Mount,” Brad murmured as they walked. This time, he was just in front of Nate, head on a swivel as he scanned for hostile intent. “The Wailing Wall, the Dome of the Rock, the al-Aqsa Mosque and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. The holiest of sites for the three major religions of the world.”

“All of whom want access to their own sites while denying access to the other two religions,” Nate said tersely. “That’s an awful lot of hate from people who claim love is a fundamental tenant of their faith.”

They approached from the south until the silver dome of the Al-Aqsa Mosque rose up before them. Nate stopped walking.

“Are we going in?” Brad asked.

“The Jordanians don’t allow anyone access to the holy sites,” Nate said. “Their way of keeping the peace.”

Brad nodded and looked back at the white stone structure, shining brightly in the sun. “That’s the Mosque, right? Third holiest site in Sunni Islam?”

“Right,” Nate sighed, admiring the silver dome and the towering spires and minarets of the sixth-century construction. “The Muslims believe Mohammad was literally transported to this site from Mecca. It’s at the southern most end of the Temple Mount which is closest to Mecca. All the holy sites are administered by an Arab _Waqf_ , but rather than risk desecration of the sites by Jews, all worshippers are banned entirely.”

“Tell me about these Jordanian troops,” Brad said, keeping a close eye on the tense looking Legionnaires. “Any more hostile than usual?”

“There are _more_ of them than usual.” Nate didn’t like the way so many Jordanians had their fingers resting inside the trigger guards of their weapons

“If Israel makes a move against any Arab nation, they’ll move to take the Old City at the same time,” Brad observed shrewdly.

“Without question,” Nate concurred. “And it looks like Jordan is preparing for that attempt.”

Nate placed a hand at the small of Brad’s back to steer his attention toward the center of the Temple Mount. They pushed through Jordanian troops and Arabs seeking to get as close to Al-Aqsa as possible. Nate listened to snatches of conversation as they passed through. The Legionnaires took note of their passing but he heard nothing more sinister in their conversations.

The Dome of the Rock was visible from nearly every location in Jerusalem, but the closer they drew to it, the brighter the golden dome seemed to glow.

Brad waved a hand in the general direction of the domed structure, even as he glanced over his shoulder. “Isn’t this where the Bible says the Holy Temple is to be rebuilt?”

“Exactly,” Nate nodded emphatically. “Many Jews want the Dome relocated to Mecca so the new Holy Temple can be built.” A cluster of Jordanian soldiers engaged in a heated conversation captured his attention.

“That probably doesn’t go over well with the Muslims.” Brad seemed to have noticed the clustered soldiers, as well. Noting their interest, the Legionnaires moved off in different directions.

“You think?” Nate asked with lifted eyebrows. The armed Jordanian presence grew more pronounced the deeper they moved into the Old City. “Let’s go.”

Leading them toward the Western Wall, Nate located the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. “You know what this is?”

Brad blew out a heavy breath. “Where the Christians believe Christ was both crucified and buried.”

Nate nodded. “And given the history between Christians and Muslims, especially here in Jerusalem, is it any wonder the Christians aren’t thrilled to have their Church administered by Muslims?”

Further discussion was interrupted when the radio crackled to life. “ _Hitman-Two; Government House._ ”

“This is Hitman-Two-Actual,” Nate replied into the handset at his shoulder.

“ _Sector Commander has ordered you to RTB._ ”

“That can’t be good,” Nate said to Brad. Keying the mic, he transmitted, “Roger that. We’re oscar-mike. Advise the SC that the Jordanian presence has increased in the Old City. First strike does not look imminent, but the tension level could result in aggression at any sign of IDF movements.”

“ _Will advise Assassin. Government House out.”_

At the Jeep, Brad helped Nate off with the radio pack. “Would you like me to drive, sir?” Nate glanced at Brad in surprise. “I’ve got the map memorized now and I can navigate back to the DMZ without detouring to Tel Aviv.”

Nate chuckled.

“Traffic’s going to be stressful and you look like you have a lot on your mind,” Brad elaborated.

Too true. He handed Brad the keys. But even without having to maneuver the congested roads, Nate still had a headache by the time they reached the compound.

“How are you holding up, Nate?” Patterson asked as soon as he saw them.

“I’ll be fine, sir,” he replied. “I’m just frustrated and disappointed.”

“We share your frustration,” Patterson said. “We’d all hoped Nasser’s ego could withstand the pressure from Jordan and Syria to act against Israel. Even the PLO is getting in on the act.”

“Are they continuing to pressure Nasser over the presence of UNEF in the Sinai?” Nate asked “That’s the issue on the surface,” Patterson replied. “We all know it runs deeper than that. It’s the Palestinian issue. It’s the Zionist issue.”

“Due respect,” Brad spoke up, “the Arab nations don’t really want to take on Israel so they keep provoking one another.”

Patterson gave Brad a long, appraising look. “You sound like you’ve been talking to Godfather.”

“It only makes sense,” Brad said. “Israel’s had nineteen years to build up the IDF. The Suez conflict in ’56 didn’t really test their might, so there’s a lingering suspicion that Israel’s more than formidable. The Arab nations will never publicly admit they’re afraid, but they won’t launch a first strike, either.”

“And Israel will?” Nate asked.

“You tell me,” Brad said. “You know them better than I do. You can bet all this posturing and aggressive bluster has the GOI, the entire nation, feeling like Israel’s very existence is being threatened. The best defense is a good offense.”

“Well, you two can take a break from worrying about the current situation,” Patterson said. “The static observers are taking up nighttime over-watch positions. You’re done for the night.”

“Yes, sir,” Nate said, acknowledging Patterson’s unspoken order to let go of the things over which he had no control.

“Staff Sergeant Colbert, I have a mission for you and your Marines,” Patterson said.

“Excellent, sir,” Brad replied.

“What do you know about Mount Scopus?” Patterson asked.

Nate was momentarily confused by that line of inquiry. Suddenly, the pieces slotted into place and he realized the brilliance of Patterson’s idea. He stifled a laugh.

“Problem, Lieutenant?” Patterson asked.

“No, sir,” Nate answered easily. “In fact, it’s such a perfect idea, I wish I’d thought of it myself.”

“Glad you approve, since you’ll be taking command of the Staff Sergeant’s UNEF Marines.”

“Sir?” Nate’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Is now the right time for me to be playing referee during a Mount Scopus run.

“You know that if I send Schwetje or McGraw, they’ll escalate the situation to a full scale confrontation,” Patterson said with a sad shake of his head. “I can send Whitmer or Eckhoff, but neither of them has developed the cohesive working relationship with Sgt. Colbert that you have.”

Nate nodded. He and Brad really had formed a solid way of working together. But it was the thought of a more personal relationship that had kept Nate awake last night; made him want to just reach out and touch Brad all day today day.

“Mount Scopus, Sergeant?” Patterson prompted.

“It’s a Jewish sector of Jerusalem created during the ’48 ceasefire. The sector is completely encircled by Jordanian held territory. There is no in or out for the Jews.” Brad’s summary was precise and succinct.

“Correct. The trouble is, a branch of Hebrew University as well as Hadassah Hospital are within the enclave. They require regular resupply.”

“How is that achieved, sir?”

“Every two weeks, a convoy of supplies is allowed to pass the narrow, winding mile-and-a-half road through the Arab neighborhood of Sheikh Jarrah. The convoy is escorted by Jerusalem police under the supervision of UNTSO.”

“So, why peacekeepers this time, instead of just observers?” Brad asked.

“Tensions are running unusually high this week and we don’t want a repeat of the incident from ’58,” Patterson replied. “The Jordanians opened fire on the convoy and killed several doctors, nurses, police and a U.N. officer.”

“Roger that,” Brad said with a nod of understanding. “A little extra blue in the field to keep a nervous Jordanian from over reacting.”

“Exactly,” Patterson confirmed.

“We also suspect that the Jerusalem police might also really be IDF,” Nate added. “Israel may be using the convoy to smuggle weapons into the enclave.”

“So, my Marines may have to stop a shoot-out if the Israelis are caught?”

“Sadly, yes. Jordan doesn’t have much of a leg to stand on as this entire situation is a violation of the Armistice agreement, but they’re not going to back down. Especially not now.”

“Nate’s escorted the convoy before so he knows what you’ll need and what to expect,” Patterson said to Brad. “Take tomorrow to plan and coordinate at Nate’s direction. You’ll make the run the day after.”

“Aye aye, Skipper,” Brad replied. He looked pleased, Nate thought.

“Dismissed,” Patterson said, taking a seat behind his desk.

Nate led Brad down the hall to large room containing a long trestle table. “We’ll use this room tomorrow. Meet me here at 0700 tomorrow. That will keep the other MOs out of our way and we can get right down to business.” he said.

“Yes, sir.” Brad seemed as though there was more he wanted to say.

Nate himself had a lot he wanted to say, but none of it was appropriate so he kept silent. It was getting harder to do, given the number of times during the day he pictured himself just hanging out with Brad. Or the times he pictured Brad naked and sprawled across Nate’s bed back in California.

He pushed those thoughts aside and focused on tomorrow’s planning session. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

As always happened when he and Brad parted ways, Nate felt startlingly alone.

Tolerating McGraw’s incessant babbling difficult under the best of circumstances. It would have been unbearable tonight. Thank God Patterson had ordered Dave not to leave the Admin office until he had completed his past-due after-action reports. McGraw would be there late into the night.

Tonight, his uniform felt like a bad fit, too tight around him. Nate stripped it off and stuffed it into his canvas laundry bag. He needed to make a trip into town on his next day of furlough. There was a sweet Jewish woman who took in laundry for the U.N. workers.

Nate didn’t like the idea of putting on anything olive-drab, even if it was clean. He rummaged through the few personal possessions he’d brought with him for a pair of dungarees. He was buttoning them just as there was a knock on the door.

He opened it to find Brad standing on his front step. Why hadn’t he stopped to tug on a shirt. He felt exposed as Brad’s eyes drifted over his bare feet and his chest, naked save for his dog tags.

“Captain Patterson has a sergeant babysitting McGraw so he doesn’t leave before his reports are done,” Brad said. “I knew you’d be alone.”

Nate took a deep breath. This was a mistake. Still, he stepped aside and let Brad enter. He locked the door. If Dave did come back earlier than expected, the noise of him fumbling with the flimsy lock would serve as a warning.

Not that a warning was needed. Nate vowed that no warning would be needed.

“I’ve got a bottle of a pretty good Israeli wine that Shalhevet gave me,” Nate said, moving into the kitchen to grab the bottle and two metal cups from chow kits.

Brad stood tall and straight in the main room of the house. He was still dressed in an olive-drab undershirt, his uniform pants and black combat boots. He looked stiff and uncomfortable. Nate wondered what it had taken for him to come here.

He poured the dark liquid into both cups and handed one to Brad. Brad had long narrow fingers that grasped the cup firmly.

When he looked up, Brad was watching him closely, his expression inscrutable.

“Do I need to go put on a shirt?” Nate asked, taking a long drink of his wine.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Brad said, one corner of his mouth lifting in that partial smile Nate had grown fond of.

Sitting down in one of only two comfortable chairs to be found in the house, Nate was surprised to see Brad carrying a straight backed chair from its place against the wall. He sat down directly in front of Nate, their knees nearly touching.

He almost sat back, almost tried to put some distance between himself and Brad. Nate realized he didn’t want distance between the two of them. He liked Brad this close; right up in his personal space. Leaning forward, Nate rested his elbows on his thighs and cradled his cup in both hands.

Like Nate, Brad had cleaned up a little. He smelled good: warm, musky and masculine. Nate stayed where he was, breathing in Brad’s scent and listening to his slow, even breaths.

Brad didn’t drink his wine. Instead, he restlessly fidgeted with the cup. The silence was comfortable, but Nate knew it couldn’t last indefinitely.

“What can I do for you, Brad,” he finally asked quietly, looking at Brad’s restless hands. He wasn’t at all ready to feel the warm press of Brad’s lips against his own. He made a sound of surprise and pleasure against Brad’s mouth.

Feeling Brad’s hand slip around behind his head to cradle his skull, Nate expected Brad to deepen the kiss. He wanted to feel Brad’s tongue against his own, but Nate resolved to let Brad initiate whatever this turned into. There would be no question of Nate abusing his rank.

Instead, Brad pulled away abruptly, taking a deep drink of his wine and looking anywhere but at Nate.

“I’ve been thinking about what that would feel like almost from the moment we met,” Brad said finally. “I had to get it out of the way.”

Nate was gratified he wasn’t the only one invested in whatever this was. At the same time, they were treading very dangerous ground. “I’m glad you did,” he said, surprised at the low, rough pitch of his voice. “I’ve been wondering about it myself.”

“I like working with you, Nate,” Brad said firmly. “You’re smart, you know what the hell you’re doing, and you seem to have a clue about what’s really going on around here.”

“I enjoy working with you, too, Brad. I’m going to miss you when you rotate out to the Sinai,” Nate replied truthfully, his lips still warm and tingling from the feel of Brad’s kiss.

“With the way things are going to hell, that might not even happen,” Brad said darkly. “No one seems to know for sure.”

“In any case,” Nate sighed, running a hand over his shorn hair in frustration, “we absolutely have to keep whatever this is under wraps.”

“I know,” Brad sounded almost angry. “But I couldn’t keep working with you and wondering … I had to know what it felt like to touch you.”

“Was it everything you expected?”

“Let’s just say I’m not averse to doing it again.” Brad’s half-smile was back. Nate smiled back.

This time, it was Nate who leaned in, pressing his mouth to Brad’s. Reaching up, Nate curled his fingers around Brad’s neck and dragged his thumb over his cheekbone. He dragged his tongue along Brad’s closed lips, cautiously seeking entrance. Brad moaned softly and parted his lips.

Nate licked into Brad’s mouth, enjoying his heat, his taste. Brad’s tongue met Nate’s, slick and firm, kissing back with enthusiasm that had Nate’s breath catching in his throat. Nate pulled back but Brad chased after him, dragging his tongue one more time against Nate’s before, he too, pulled away.

He pressed his forehead to Brad’s. “I really like this,” Nate whispered. “But we have Marine regs that forbid it and a code of conduct that warns against it.”

Brad pulled back looking confused. “The Marine reg I’m familiar with. What code are we violating?”

“The Peacekeeper Code of Conduct?” Nate reminded him.

“Ah. Number Four. Does my kissing you mean I’m indulging in an immoral act of sexual abuse and exploitation?” Brad asked, a teasing light in his eyes.

Nate couldn’t help but chuckle. “I don’t think it is but you know they’d use it against us,” he said, sighing heavily.

Brad’s expression grew serious. “Yeah. They would.”

“God,” Nate whispered. “If only we’d met as civilians.”

“If only,” Brad echoed. “What would you have done if we’d met as civilians?”

Nate looked at Brad for a long moment. Brad’s expression was guarded, yet somehow hopeful.

“I’d have gotten down on my knees for you, that’s for sure,” Nate replied, brushing his lips against Brad’s. “After that’d I’d have just seen where things went from there.”

Nate shivered when Brad nuzzled his ear. “Would you get on your _hands_ and knees for me, Nate?” he whispered.

Oh, yes, he would. Brad would have enticed Nate to do nearly anything. It could have been in the back of a filthy semi trailer on the Baltimore waterfront, or an equally filthy men’s room in Central Park. Nate would happily let Brad in.

“Yes,” he breathed, closing his eyes and pressing his face into Brad’s neck, “yes, for you, I would.”

He felt a shudder roll through Brad’s body.

“There’ll be times we can get leave,” Brad said, his voice rough and strained. “There’ll come a time we’re both back in the States, maybe even out of the Marines.”

Nate made a sound to indicate he was following along, even as he kissed his way along Brad’s throat.

“I like you, Nate. I really _like_ you, and I don’t like very many people.”

Nate huffed against the warm skin of Brad’s throat and smiled at the answering shudder.

“We live and work in a region that may explode in violence at any moment. I can’t chance that something might happen to you before we’ve seen what this is between us.”

Nate twisted a fist into Brad’s shirt. He held on as if Brad was his lifeline, his anchor. He’d spent his entire life seeking important things; things that mattered. He was a Marine and a military observer because he needed to be a part of something bigger than himself.

Brad was obviously so much more than just another queer in a public restroom and Nate may never get an opportunity like this again.

“Careful,” he said finally, pulling away from Brad reluctantly. “We have to be very careful.”

“Just try.” Brad’s expression bordered on earnest. Somehow, Nate realized just how hard Brad was struggling not to let him see how much this mattered.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, knowing he’d said the right thing with Brad’s countenance relaxed.

Brad sat back in his chair and looked down at the nearly untouched cup of wine in his hands. “I should go. We have a mission to plan tomorrow.”

“Yes, we do,” Nate agreed. “And we can’t really be sure how long McGraw is going to be gone.”

“Yeah, I also don’t need Ray Person to come knocking on your door looking for me,” Brad growled. “He gets a little bratty when he thinks daddy is ignoring him.”

Nate took Brad’s cup from him and set it aside with his own. “It’s just too easy, I’m not going to touch that.”

He walked Brad to the door. Brad seemed as reluctant to leave as Nate was to have him go.

With one hand on the door handle, Brad wrapped his other hand around the back of Nate’s neck. Nate gasped into Brad’s mouth when it suddenly covered his own, hard and warm. Before Nate could gather his wits and return the kiss, Brad pulled away and disappeared into the darkness.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_**Tuesday, 16 May, 1967** _

_**United Nations Treaty Supervision Organization Headquarters, Jerusalem**_

 _**  
** _

Nate was immediately awake. He rolled out of bed more easily this morning, than he’d been doing in the last several weeks. His first thought of the day was most likely the reason Nate felt just a little more energetic, a little less pessimistic.

Brad.

Nate had closed the door behind Brad last night and gone straight to his bedroom. He’d stripped out of his dungarees, located his hardly-used jar of Vaseline, and climbed onto his bed. Now that he knew what if felt like to have Brad’s lips on his, he’d used the knowledge to enhance his fantasy. It was a fantasy he’d been denying himself. Nate had taken his time with this jack, where all his others had been hurried and expedient.

He’d come hard, arching off the bed and clenching his teeth to keep his shout from echoing through the compound. It had left him feeling relaxed and peaceful. He’d fallen asleep quickly and slept deeply.

Gathering up a stack of maps and reports, Nate was out the door while McGraw was still getting dressed. He grabbed a quick breakfast in the mess and was still one of the first observers in the briefing room.

Patterson greeted him. “Nate, you were excused from briefing this morning. What‘s up

“Stopping in to see if anything happened overnight that might affect the mood of the Jordanians,” Nate replied.

“Israel has sent additional troops south to match Egypt’s build up,” Patterson said with a heavy sigh. “It’s still a staring contest at this point, luckily, but the MOs down there are watching closely.”

“Shit,” Nate muttered.

“Yep,” Patterson concurred. “Now more than ever, we need a peaceful resupply convoy to Mount Scopus.”

“Understood, sir,” Nate said, pressing his lips together in a grim line. “I’m going to go lay out the maps and the manifests for the briefing. Sergeant Colbert and his men will be here at 0700.”

“See me if you have trouble getting anything you need,” Patterson said.

Inside the planning room, Nate flipped on the lights. He spread out maps of the A.O., as well as maps of the target destination. He laid out the manifests the Israelis were required to file on the supplies going to Mount Scopus. There were also personnel rosters for staff rotations of both the police and the hospital.

Nate was finding it hard to concentrate this morning. He knew exactly why. When he thought of seeing Brad, being in his company, possibly finding an excuse touch him in a publicly acceptably manner, his stomach knotted pleasantly.

He’d never felt this way about anyone before. Nor had anyone ever felt this way about Nate, to his knowledge, and that both surprised and pleased him greatly. Nate had believed it wasn’t possible for two men to care for one another beyond the convenience of sex.

“This the right room for the convoy briefing, LT?” Nate startled at as his reverie was interrupted.

Nate turned and was greeted by the sight of several Marines in the doorway. He recognized Sergeant Kocher but didn’t recall the names of the other two. “It is,” Nate said. “Is Sergeant Colbert on the way?”

“On his way, sir,” Kocher confirmed. “He’s rounding up some of the slower kids. He’s made it his personal mission to ensure everyone shows up _early._ ”

“I appreciate that,” Nate said, allowing himself a pleased smile. “We have a lot of ground to cover. I’m Lieutenant Fick, by the way.”

“Sergeant Kocher.”

“I remember.”

“This is PFC Christesen and Corporal Stafford,” Kocher indicated his two companions, who each gave Nate a respectful nod.

“Gentlemen,” Nate greeted.

“’Morning, Lieutenant,” Sergeant Espera called from the doorway. “Brad says to tell you he’s on his way. Should be just a few minutes behind me.” He stepped into the room with Corporal Lilley on his heels, followed by Sgts. Reyes and Patrick.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Nate replied.

“Thank Christ we made it here before Brad,” someone said morosely from the doorway.

Nate chuckled, amused by how strongly Brad had managed to motivate his men. “Welcome, Sergeant …” Nate prompted.

“Lovell, sir,” the Sergeant replied. “And this is Chaffin and Garza.”

Before Nate could give more than a cursory greeting, a voice echoed from down the hallway. “Can I at least take a piss? We’re early, I at least have time to take a piss.”

“Here comes Brad now,” Poke said with a shake of his head.

“Tie it in a knot, Person,” Brad said darkly as he stepped into the doorway. His eyes found Nate’s unerringly. “Good morning, sir,” he said briskly. “Bravo Two present and accounted for. We understand the U.N. needs some Marines to keep the Jordanians from picking a fight.”

Filing into the room behind Brad was Corporal Person, Corporal Hasser, and a Lance Corporal Nate thought was named Trombley.

He smiled broadly, appreciating both Brad’s humor and his arrogance. “Indeed we do. Thank you, gentlemen. This should be a milk run but if the Jordanians decide to make a point, or if the Israelis try something sneaky, things could get dicey.”

“Cool. Maybe we’ll finally get some,” Ray said delightedly.

Brad shot him a dark look and Hasser shushed him fiercely.

“Maybe we’ll get to fuck some shit up,” Chaffin said, earning a snicker from Garza.

“You illiterate, inbred, redneck motherfuckers have been bitching like hormonal teenage girls about how you weren’t having any fun sitting around the compound all day long,” Brad said, addressing himself to the room. “The nice UNTSO officers have dug up an honest-to-fuck military mission for us and you’re all standing around chatting like it’s a goddamn tea party. Now shut up and give the Lieutenant your undivided – and silent – attention.”

“I just wanna know if we get to carry M16s,” Ray demanded. “Or do we gotta do this unarmed, like the pussy observers? ‘Cause I’m a fuckin’ Marine, not some peace-loving hippie.”

“You’re a fuckin’ Peacekeeper, Person,” Poke said derisively.

“Which means I’m supposed to carry a weapon so I can shoot any motherfucker that disturbs the peace,” Ray said, as if it was obvious.

“Ray,” Brad said sharply.

It seemed that Person had finally run out of steam - or was just that afraid of Brad.

“Okay, listen up,” Nate said, drawing everyone’s attention to himself. “Tomorrow, we’re going to escort the fortnightly resupply convoy for Hebrew University and Hassan Hospital. We’re operating in an atmosphere of heightened hostilities and there’s every chance things will go to shit. You need to be ready.”

The platoon settled down and Nate walked them through the history of the mission. When it came time to cover planning and logistics, he deferred to Brad. He didn’t know these men: their strengths, their skills, their temperaments. Brad did.

“We’ll split into five teams, four to five Marines per team,” Brad started. “We can get access to that number of Jeeps?” Brad asked Nate.

“Affirmative.”

Brad continued, “We’ll disperse the convoy among the Jeeps, one Jeep on point, one to the rear. If the Jordanian’s challenge us, everyone exits the vehicles in a show of force and takes up a perimeter position.”

“If they do more than challenge us, we take cover behind the Jeeps, correct?” Kocher asked.

“Yes,” Brad answered. “While the convoy vehicles might provide more cover, I don’t want to draw fire toward them.”

“Interrogative,” Pappy interrupted, “Can we rely on the Jerusalem police for any kind of support?”

Nate’s eyes darted to Brad’s and found they were already watching him closely.

“UNTSO suspects that some of the police are actually IDF in disguise,” Brad said. “Yes, we can count on them for backup, but not necessarily to back down once hostilities are again under control.”

“We’re not gonna have to worry about them starting anything, are we?” Poke asked.

“Not likely,” Nate answered. “Israel prefers to play the wronged victim in the eyes of the world. So far, they’re using Arab hostilities as an excuse for an aggressive defense, but they aren’t likely to launch an attack. Not over this, anyway.”

“The return trip will be as risky as the trip there,” Brad resumed the briefing. “We’ll have taken on things the hospital and the university are sending back down the hill, and we’ll still have Israeli doctors, nurses and police officers returning in the personnel exchange.”

When it didn’t seem there were any questions, Nate took over. “Sergeant Colbert and I will take this afternoon to visit the parties we’ll be escorting tomorrow and advise them of the heightened security, as well as our instructions to them for their own safety. The convoy will rendezvous with us and the Mandelbaum Courtyard, which is the only access point to Jordanian-held Jerusalem. We’ll meet up at 0700. Inside the shed at the Mandelbaum Courtyard, we will all verify the information on the manifests and inspect the personnel going up for the staff rotation. As soon as that’s done, we’ll step off. Questions?”

“Has UNTSO assigned us radio call signs?” Lovell asked. “Or are there UNEF call signs we should use?”

Brad glanced at Nate, looking for an answer.

“None have been assigned,” Nate replied. “We can devise our own and I’ll advise the radio room.”

“The Lieutenant is Hitman-Two,” Brad said. “I think we should align off of his call sign. I’ll use Hitman-Two-One. The LT’ll be in my Jeep, so I’ll be Two-One-Alpha. Poke, you use Two-One-Bravo.”

“Roger that,” Espera said.

“Pappy, you’ll be Hitman-Two-Two.”

“You got it, Brad.”

“Lovell, Hitman-Two-Three.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Kocher, Hitman-Two-Four.”

“Makes sense,” Eric agreed.

Nate noted the call signs in his notebook so he could provide them to the radio room when the briefing broke up.

“That’s all I have,” Brad said. “Lieutenant?”

“Brad, write up a list of what you need from the armory so Mike can have it pulled,” Nate said, flipping his notebook closed. “You men can check out your weapons this evening, after Brad and I get back.”

Nate gave himself a silent kick in the ass as a chill ran down his spine. He hoped none of the men thought his use of Brad’s given name was odd.

“M16s for everyone,” he continued, as if everything was perfectly natural. “Sidearms for NCOs only.”

“Lieutenant, sir?” Rudy got Nate’s attention with a lifted finger. “Are you really going unarmed tomorrow?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Nate replied succinctly. “I am still UNTSO, still an observer.”

“That’s badass,” Lilley murmured to Poke who nodded emphatically.

“If that’s it,” Brad said, “dismissed.”

The platoon filed out of the room, the noise level rising as they began to discuss the details of the mission amongst themselves. Brad stood beside Nate, watching them go.

“Let’s get your armory list turned in to Mike,” Nate said, heading for the door. “You and I have several visits to make this afternoon.”

“Nate,” Brad called softly.

The tenor of his voice brought Nate up short. He looked over at Brad, swallowing against a suddenly dry throat. Brad’s tone, the look in his eyes, had nothing to do with the mission.

“Yeah, Brad,” Nate said, wondering if Brad could hear the way his heart was slamming in his chest.

“You keep your head down, tomorrow,” Brad said simply, his expression warning Nate not to argue.

“Brad,” Nate started, but Brad mostly likely knew what he was going to say.

“Nate. You’re going into this unarmed.” Brad looked calm but Nate could feel the tension radiating from his tall frame. “If things stay calm and there’s an opportunity for negotiation or diplomacy, I’ll turn you loose.”

“Turn me loose?” Nate asked incredulously. It almost sounded as though Brad was issuing him an order.

“You keep your head down,” Brad said with more intensity. He stepped closer to Nate, watching his face closely. “You stay right on my six until I tell you not to. If the shooting starts, I’m keeping you beside me, behind me, fucking under me, if I have to. If we can secure the situation to my satisfaction, I’m happy to let you try talking. It’s not like you’re not good at it.”

“Gee, thanks,” Nate said, knowing he was being petty. Brad’s concern for him thrilled him a little, and that feeling embarrassed him.

“My original mission here, as tasked by Captain Patterson, was to keep your ass safe as things escalate in Jerusalem,” Brad said, leaning down closer to Nate. He could feel Brad’s breath ghost along is cheek with every word. “That order has not been rescinded, so it remains my primary mission.”

Nate took a deep breath and released it slowly as he contemplated Brad’s face. His expression held a note of pleading, even as he firmly made his case to Nate.

“I do know how to handle myself in combat,” he reminded Brad.

“I haven’t forgotten. But you won’t be armed, and I will.” Brad paused, as if carefully weighing his words. “I need you to try to get home in one piece, Nate.”

That was the heart of Brad’s concern, Nate knew. The trouble was, Nate was equally invested in Brad’s welfare. Yet he was facing a situation where he may have to use Brad’s body as a shield. Nate never wanted violence to escalate, but he was especially hopeful that tomorrow would be a quiet day.

“Promise me,” Brad said, lifting one eyebrow.

“Fine,” Nate agreed reluctantly.

One side of Brad’s mouth lifted in a smile. “Good. Now let’s go see Mike about some guns.”

~*~

 **  
_  
2230 hours  
_   
**

Nate was in his bedroom with the door closed. He was too tired to listen to McGraw’s out-of-touch rambling. It had been a series of long days, emotionally and physically, and he was starting to feel it. He’d tried reading the novel he’d slowly been working through but couldn’t concentrate. He was bone-tired and his mind kept drifting to Brad.

He decided to just turn in; it was getting late, anyway.

Nate startled at the sound of a vigorous pounding on the front door of the cottage. For a single moment, he thought it might be Brad and his heart slammed against his chest. He realized Brad wouldn’t pound thunderously on the door and that meant it had to be an official visit. Nate had a feeling he was about to be summoned.

He opened his bedroom door as McGraw opened the front door of their hooch. On the front step stood Mike Wynn.

“Lieutenant Fick?” Mike asked McGraw. Dave stepped aside.

“What do you need, Gunny?” Nate stepped into the main room.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” Mike said, looking truly apologetic. “The Sector Commander sent me to fetch you.”

“Shit,” Nate sighed. “Who attacked?”

“It hasn’t come to that quite yet, but the downhill slide has begun,” Mike said darkly.

“Give me just a minute.” Nate returned to his room and quickly put his boots on. He buttoned his blouse over his undershirt and headed for the door.

As he and Mike crossed the compound back to Government House, Nate asked, “What do you know?”

“No one’s told me anything directly but scuttlebutt says Nasser summoned Rikhye in order to demand UNEF withdraw from the Sinai.”

Nate’s stomach did a queasy roll. “He can demand all he wants, it doesn’t mean it’ll happen,” Nate said. General Rikhye, a high ranking officer in the Indian army and commander of the UNEF forces in the Sinai, was a U.N. veteran and had advised two Secretaries General. He had to know how to play this game Nasser had initiated, didn’t he?

“You’d know more about that than I do,” Mike replied. “But I received orders to prepare for a withdrawal.”

“Who issued those orders?” Nate demanded, anger warring with apprehension.

“Rikhye himself,” Mike sighed.

Inside Government House, Nate double-timed it to Patterson’s office. “Captain?” he said as he entered, before catching sight of Godfather. “Excuse me, Colonel,” he said hastily.

“Lieutenant Fick,” Godfather addressed him, “we’re waiting for a few others to join us. Meantime, at 2200 hours tonight, Brigadier General Mukhtar paid General Rikhye a visit to present a letter from President Nasser. The letter demands the withdrawal of UNEF from al-Sabha and Sharm al-Sheikh. Tonight.”

It was at once better and worse than Nate had feared. “Withdrawal from two observation posts, but not an entire withdrawal from Egypt?”

“So far, it appears Egypt is only trying to clear the way around the Straits of Tiran,” Godfather answered.

“And what was General Rikhye’s response?” Nate asked, recalling Mike’s orders to prepare for a withdrawal.

“He’s wisely stalling for time so the Secretary General can intervene,” Godfather replied. “The commanders at al-Sabha and Sharm al-Sheikh have been told to stay at their posts for as long as possible.”

“What if Egypt forces the issue?”

“They have orders to refrain from using force, even if they’re evicted.”

Nate sighed in relief. “Good. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“You understand how negatively this affects the current situation, Lieutenant?”

“I do sir,” Nate answered, sounding morose to his own ears. “Israel will see it as a provocation; a threat to their sovereignty, if not their very existence.”

“Correct. General Bull has said the lack of evidence of a buildup of Israeli forces does not mean Israel cannot or will not launch an attack.”

“Understood, sir.”

“I’ll let Captain Patterson take things from here,” Godfather said, heading for the door. “You’re going to have your work cut out for you in the coming days, Lieutenant Fick.”

“I’ll do whatever I can, Colonel.”

With a nod, Godfather left the office.

“Sir, what’s the next step?” Nate asked Patterson.

“We’ll discuss it more when everyone else gets here,” Patterson replied. “But since the SecGen has been advised and is handling it diplomatically, we at least know we’ve got the time it will take for this to move through the Security Council and the General Assembly. What we’ve got to do is keep Israel from making a preemptive strike.”

“They will, sir,” Nate said emphatically. “Eshkol doesn’t want war but if Egypt provokes him, he _will_ turn Rabin and Dayan loose. He won’t risk Israel’s entire existence.”

“Agreed, Nate. Tomorrow, after the convoy, your job is to take his pulse, and Eban’s, while convincing them not to launch a first strike.”

“You don’t ask much, sir,” Nate replied, smiling sharply.

“And you thought all the action was in the Sinai,” Patterson returned his smile.

“Be careful what you wish for, right, sir?”

Patterson’s reply was lost when Ekloff, Whitmer and Schwetje finally entered the office.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Wednesday, 17 June, 1967_ **

**_Mandelbaum Courtyard, Jerusalem  
0800 hours _ **

  
When the five Jeeps pulled up to the shed in the Mandelbaum courtyard, Nate couldn’t climb out of the backseat fast enough. He’d felt like a child when Brad had insisted he ride back there. Nate had planned to drive the Jeep with Brad riding shotgun. Brad had promptly informed him that if the shit hit the fan, Ray needed to drive defensively while Brad maintained a clear field of fire. He ordered Nate to duck and Walt to keep Nate alive, if he valued his own life.

He knew Brad was right but Nate didn’t like being treated like a fragile package.

The armored buses that would transport the police and medical personnel were already at the gate waiting, a testament to Brad’s ability to convey the level of displeasure he’d feel if he was kept waiting. Israelis were not known for their punctuality. More trucks were rolling up, some already loaded with supplies and provisions, others empty and ready to be filled with the contents of the shed.

Brad slung his M16 over his shoulder and began to walk down the line of parked vehicles, the slow roll of his hips making his gait look deceptively relaxed. Nate tugged his flak vest straight and approached a section of concrete and wire where Jordanian Legionnaires stood chatting with the Israeli police.

He was suddenly aware of someone walking right on his six. Glancing over his shoulder, Nate saw Corporal Hasser, M16 slung behind and glancing around with his head on a swivel. Hasser met his eyes briefly with a friendly smile before returning to his survey of their surroundings.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” a Legionnaire he’d not met before greeted when Nate drew close. Here at the gate, contact between all sides was more social, more amiable. The Jordanians traded gossip and newspapers with the Israelis and liked to practice their English with the U.N. staff.

“Good morning, Sergeant,” Nate returned the greeting. An Israeli officer offered Nate a cigarette, which he politely declined.

“Did you enjoy the Independence Day parade?” the Legionnaire asked.

Nate suspected he didn’t care what Nate thought of the Independence Day celebration, it was just a polite question he was able to form in English. “Sadly, I had to work most of the day. What I saw of the parade I did enjoy, thank you.”

“You are welcome. How many vehicles are you escorting today,” the Sergeant asked carefully.

“We have five trucks with food and medical supplies for the hospital, three trucks with food and educational materials for the university, and four trucks of Israeli police personnel,” Nate answered from memory. He gave no sign he was aware of the looks exchanged between the Israeli police when he mentioned their trucks. “There are three armored buses filled with medical personnel and no supplies. They’re exchanging staff so we’ll be returning with the same number of persons.”

“Very good, Lieutenant,” the Legionnaire said, touching his fingertips briefly to his forehead. “Stay safe. We will see you upon your return.”

Nate turned and headed up the line of trucks. Crunching gravel told him Hasser was right in step behind him. Over his shoulder, Nate asked, “Are you going to follow me around all day, Walt?”

“I’m not, sir, no,” he answered and, with a nod, peeled off.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Fick, sir,” Sergeant Reyes said jovially, approaching from the right. “Wonderful day for escort duty, isn’t it?”

“Good morning, Sergeant,” Nate replied. “It is a lovely morning, yes.”

Looking at the trucks they’d be escorting, Nate checked for anything suspicious, or something that might be in enough disrepair as to cause mechanical difficulties at an inopportune moment. Some of the police personnel that were a part of the escort left Nate feeling uneasy and he suspected the rumor of IDF infiltrating the convoy to spy were accurate.

Halfway down the line of trucks, Corporal Stafford fell into step with Rudy who immediately reversed, walking off in the direction he and Nate had come from.

“Is babysitting me voluntary?” Nate asked. “Or did Staff Sergeant Colbert have to order you?”

“Nah, sir, we’re takin’ turns,” Stafford said conversationally. “Everybody’ll get a chance by the time we’re done.”

He almost made it sound like they actually wanted to keep an eye on Nate.

At the tail end of the convoy, the armored buses that would carry the medical personnel were parked. Brad stood there talking to an Israeli police officer. At Nate’s approach, Brad nodded at Stafford who sketched a quick salute and headed back toward his Jeep.

“We all squared away, Staff Sergeant?” Nate asked Brad.

“Yes, sir. We’re ready to begin examining manifests and inspecting the trucks and their loads. Several of my Marines will conduct inspections of the outgoing personnel here in the courtyard.”

“Any reason to think we’re going to run into any trouble?” Nate turned and headed for the shed to begin overseeing the inspection process.

Brad followed closely behind. “None, sir, beyond the obvious, which is enough that I’m not taking any more chances than necessary.”

The Marines spent the next few hours carrying out security checks. They verified truck manifests with their actual payloads and double-checked payload weights before pallets were removed from the shed and loaded onto trucks. All staff credentials were checked and were compared to the master list of who was scheduled to be in the convoy. All items carried by the Israeli police officers were closely inspected. While Nate and the Marines scrutinized everything, they were in turn carefully watched by representatives of both the Jordanian and the Israeli governments.

Everyone involved on both sides had been through this process before and events progressed smoothly, with a lack of tension and friction that surprised Nate. It wasn’t long before the personnel heading for assignment on Mount Scopus were climbing aboard the armored buses. Brad and his men were directing the supply trucks into line for the convoy. Marines in Jeeps would slide into the convoy when it began to move up the hill and Nate fervently hoped the trip would be as uneventful as its preparation had been.

The sound of idling engines filled the courtyard and made it hard to hear conversation. Nate felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Brad gesturing toward the Jeep they were to ride in. Reluctantly, Nate climbed into the backseat with Walt.

Ray pulled the Jeep to the front of the convoy and waited for the Jordanians to pull the barbed wire aside to allow them to pass. Several trucks fell in behind them. Nate turned back to watch as every so often, a Jeep filled with Marines would slip in between two convoy trucks. As they made their way toward the Arab town of Sheikh Jarrah, the last of the convoy vehicles crossed through the gate and a Jeep filled with peacekeepers, Hitman-Two-Four it looked like, brought up the rear.

The road to Mount Scopus was a mile and a half long. The convoy crept along at a maddeningly slow pace, ensuring vehicles didn’t become too spread out, or worse, separated. The military personnel all kept their eyes open for armed hostiles and land mines left over from the 1949 conflict.

Rolling along at their snail’s pace, they were easy targets for snipers, but there was no choice. The size of the convoy didn’t allow for speed. Ultimately, they were counting on the blue of their helmets to keep the Jordanians from acting openly hostile.

The white stone buildings of Sheikh Jarrah sparkled brightly in the mid-morning sun. The narrow dirt road was lined with the town’s inhabitants, who had come out to see the show. They waved openly at the U.N. Jeeps and jeered with hostility at the convoy trucks. Nate watched the hands of all the adult males, trying to spot weapons. He knew the other Marines were doing the same.

Ray kept up a steady stream of chatter, with Brad and Walt commenting occasionally, as they drove. Brad kept his weapon pointed out the passenger window, ready to fire at the hint of any threat. Walt did the same from the rear driver’s window.

As the Jeep cleared Sheikh Jarrah and started up the final stretch of road to Mount Scopus, Nate was watching behind them, marking the progress of the end of the convoy.

“Lieutenant,” Brad said, his voice loud and sharp.

Startled, Nate’s head snapped around. He looked ahead and saw several vehicles pulling onto the road in front of them, blocking the way. Brad and Walt both lifted their M16s toward the trucks as armed men began to spill out of them. Ray stopped the Jeep abruptly, tossing Nate forward and back against his seat.

“Get your head down, LT,” Brad shouted as he stepped from the Jeep.

Ray grabbed his M16 from where it sat between his knees and he and Walt clambered out of the vehicle right on Brad’s heels.

Nate’s first inclination was to go talk to the Jordanians, to broker safe passage in the name of the UN. But there were too many guns being waved around and he knew he should stay put.

“You better be hunkered down in that fuckin’ Jeep, Lieutenant,” Brad yelled over his shoulder.

Nate slid down in the seat as much as he could and still see over the front seat. As he watched, Poke, Chaffin, Garza and Lilley walked past, weapons raised.

“Head down, LT,” Rudy said from just outside Nate’s window.

Pappy said from where he took up position on the other side, “Let Sergeant Colbert secure the scene.”

The sounds of Brad and Ray barking orders at the hostiles drifted back to him. Espera and his group of Marines closed in, adding to their numbers. One of the Jordanians began waving a weapon in their direction, shouting in Arabic.

“Lieutenant, sir,” Rudy said, opening the Jeep door and placing a hand firmly on Nate’s shoulder, “time to get out and take cover.”

Quickly, Nate leapt from the back of the vehicle. When his feet touched down, he noted that the rest of the Marines had fanned out around the convoy, setting up a perimeter. Nate reluctantly let himself be pushed down behind the Jeep. He listened to the shouting further up the road, until it couldn’t be heard any longer.

“Sergeant Reyes?” Nate demanded an update.

“Looks like Staff Sergeant Colbert is having words with the Jordanians, sir,” Rudy answered.

“Good words or bad words?”

“Hard to tell, sir, but Sergeant Colbert does have a way with them.” This from Pappy.

“Any sign of movement anywhere other than the road ahead?” Nate wondered if they were being moved against from any other direction.

“Not at this time,” Rudy answered.

Nate stayed crouched behind the Jeep, listening to the sound of the wind blowing around them and the sound of his own hammering heart. The wait was interminable.

Just when Nate was about to glance around the side of the Jeep to try to get a look at what was going on, Marines around him began to move.

“Good to go, sir,” Rudy said suddenly, slapping Nate on the back. “Time to get back in your vehicle.”

“What happened?” he asked.

Rudy was already heading back toward his own Jeep. When Nate glanced at Pappy, all he received was a shrug and a softly spoken, “sir.”

Looking up the road, Nate saw the Marines slowly making their back to the convoy, walking backward in order to keep their enemy in sight. He climbed back into the Jeep as Poke drew up beside him.

“Sergeant Espera, what happened?” Nate demanded.

“Brad had a little chat with the Jordanians and they decided it was in their best interest to promise us safe passage today,” Poke answered.

“How did he do that?”

Poke shrugged. “He’s the Iceman, sir.”

Nate watched the Jordanians pull their vehicles off the road as Brad, Ray and Walt all climbed back into the Jeep.

“What was that all about?” he demanded.

“The Jordanians are offended to have the Zionists on their land,” Brad said as he settled back in his seat. “They insist the Israelis are smuggling weapons in the convoy and the IDF is infiltrating the police and spying on the village.”

Apprehension spiked through Nate’s system. “How did you respond?”

“I advised them they had no evidence of such and reminded them that they themselves are in violation of the 1949 Armistice Agreements.”

“You shoulda seen it, LT,” Ray interrupted. “I think Brad knows more words in Arabic than this guy. I don’t think he understood half of what Brad said to him, but didn’t want anyone to know the Viking new his language better than he did.”

“Ray,” Brad cautioned.

“Then Brad tells the guy that all the Marines today are U.S. Marines and did he really want to go up against a bunch of blood thirsty Devil Dogs.”

“Brad, you didn’t say that to him, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” Brad said, irritation obvious.

“I’m yankin’ your chain, LT,” Ray said, carefully driving the Jeep between the Jordanian trucks that had pulled off the road. “He reminded the guy that the U.N. is neutral and we’re just here to keep the peace.”

“It helped that Brad pointed out that there are a lot of reporters in Jerusalem right now,” Walt added. “The Jordanians wouldn’t want the world to find out how they fired on U.N. Peacekeepers when they’re the ones violating the Armistice in the first place.”

“Really?” Nate asked, wondering at the fact that he would have said very much the same thing. “That obviously worked.”

“Well, that and the fact that all those guys weren’t any taller than Brad’s waist,” Ray muttered. “I think they were afraid he’d step on them or something.”

“I, in no way, threatened anyone with bodily harm,” Brad said.

“Whatever you did say, it had the desired effect,” Nate said, glancing behind them to see the rest of the convoy slowly lumbering past the angry looking Jordanians. “Thank you.”

They reached the wall that encircled the Mount Scopus enclave. An Israeli police officer appeared, opening the gate, and Ray quickly drove through. Just past the gate, he pulled the Jeep off to the side.

Nate climbed out and stood to watch the convoy vehicles crawl into the enclave. The drivers had all made this run previously and knew the way to whichever facility it was they were headed. He felt Brad come to stand beside him.

“Half the men will stay here at the gate in the unlikely event the Jordanians decide to make trouble,” Brad said. “The rest of us will head to the hospital and the university to make sure the offload stays on schedule and to verify the manifests of anything being shipped back on the trucks.”

“Excellent idea,” Nate replied. He started off walking in the direction of the university. “We need to check identification on all staff making the return journey.”

Brad fell into step beside him. “My men have been briefed. They’ll keep a close eye on everyone getting on those buses.” There was a pause before Brad asked, “Are the Israelis aware they’re suspected of spying and smuggling?”

“I know the Israeli authority is,” Nate replied. “I’ve spoken to several officials about it, myself. Whether the individuals here today know they’re under suspicion, I can’t say.”

“My men have orders to keep an eye out for weapons,” Brad said. “Also, if the Israeli police officers start paying too much attention to things that shouldn’t interest them, they’re to let me know.”

The offload of food and supplies at the university was moving smoothly, overseen by Pappy and Rudy. Seeing everything was in hand, Brad and Nate headed for Hadassah Hospital.

When they arrived, it was a hive of activity as supplies were offloaded and the departing staff briefed the incoming as quickly as possible. Sergeant Kocher and his men were watching the activity closely, pitching in when needed, but mostly just ensuring the offload progressed steadily.

The hospital administrator came to thank Nate and Brad for their assistance in ensuring the safe arrival of their supplies.

“Perhaps soon, this will all be unnecessary,” he remarked.

“We always hope the U.N. will eventually convince the Jordanian government to honor the Armistice,” Nate replied distractedly.

“Israel will have to strike soon,” the administrator said, as if his thoughts should have been obvious, “as the Arab nations are all moving to wipe us from the face of the earth. When Israel is victorious, there will be no Jordan, therefore no need for an armistice.”

Nate tensed. Mentions of an Israeli first strike were growing more frequent and he wondered if it meant something. He glanced over at Brad, meeting his eyes immediately and seeing the same concern.

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Nate said. “I would prefer there be no bloodshed on either side.”

“While that would be best for all concerned, it’s not likely. Next year in Jerusalem,” the administrator said then bid them both goodbye.

“The rumors of an Israeli first strike are too persistent for there not to be some truth behind it,” Nate murmured.

“That would seem to be the case,” Brad concurred. “It complicates things, doesn’t it?”

“Let’s do what we can to move the offload along. I’d feel better if we were back in the city if things escalate.”

“Solid copy, sir.”

Once the trucks had been successfully offloaded, Brad made sure the Marines had the correct manifests for the return trip. They carefully watched books and papers from the university, as well as records and expired supplies from the hospital, get loaded into the trucks. The payloads for the return were vastly smaller, but the men were equally careful in their observance.

Nate and Brad were watching the Marines checking identification of returning staff when one of the Israeli police turned belligerent. Stepping forward, Nate could hear Sergeant Espera question something irregular about his identity card. The officer raised his voice and gesticulated wildly, accusing the Marines of harassing him. Nate was just about to move in to intervene when he felt Brad brush past him.

The police officer quieted down when Brad stepped up. Espera handed the I.D. card to Brad when he asked and he stood for several moments, looking from the card to the officer and back again. Brad said few words. Every few moments he moved slightly closer to the police officer until he stood crowding the man against the side of the bus.

Brad asked a question in Hebrew, the words of which Nate couldn’t quite make out. The officer answered immediately and with much more respect than he’d been showing Sergeant Espera. Brad said something in a low voice, handed the man his I.D. card and turned to rejoin Nate.

“What was that about?” Nate asked, watching the personnel climb onto the bus.

“That police officer was under the mistaken impression he could treat one of my Marines with disrespect,” Brad answered evenly. “He’s seen the error of his ways.”

“I can imagine,” Nate said, biting back a smile. He didn’t bother to ask what Brad had said, because it didn’t matter. Brad had calmed the situation more with his presence than his words. Nate wondered idly how intense the situation would have to be before that technique no longer worked for Brad.

The last of the personnel entered the armored bus and the door closed. Sergeant Espera turned toward them and gave a thumbs up.

“Looks like we’re oscar-mike,” Brad said, heading for their Jeep where Ray and Walt already waited. “Same drill as before,” he said as Nate climbed into the back seat.

Nate settled back into his seat but couldn’t quite relax. His kept bouncing rhythmically as he thought ahead to what he needed to do once this mission was completed. He smiled to himself as he wondered if Brad could just tower over the members of the Israeli government until they started to play nice with the Arabs in the region.

Sadly, Nate didn’t think that would work.

~*~ ****

 **  
_1500 hours  
_   
**

Getting in to see members of the GOI had turned out not to be the problem. Eshkol, Rabin, Dayan had all taken meetings with the General. In his estimation, they’d been too accommodating and overly solicitous.

The General had ordered Nate to find Deputy Minister Raviv and get him to confirm _any_ of the rumors they’d been hearing about a call up of IDF and IAF reserves. Nate was to get face time with any deputy, aid, secretary or mailroom clerk who would confirm what they’d been hearing, even if it was unofficial confirmation.

Now, Raviv was dodging him, Nate was sure. He and Brad had even split up to try to locate him.

Nate caught sight of Brad coming toward him down a connecting hallway. He turned to intercept him.

“Raviv is in the cafeteria,” Brad said in a low voice.

“You’re sure?” Nate asked and they changed direction, heading back the way Brad had come.

“Very. I don’t know how much longer he’ll be there, though.”

Inside the bustling cafeteria, Nate spotted Raviv sitting with several people he didn’t know. That meant they were most likely administrative aids. Brad hung back as Nate approached the table.

“Deputy Minister,” Nate greeted, coming to stand next to the table. “You’ve been difficult to locate, today.” He smiled broadly, easing the confrontational tone of his words.

“Lieutenant Fick,” Raviv greeted coolly. “As you can imagine, it’s been a very busy day.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” Nate replied. “What exactly has been at the center of _your_ attention today, Moshe?”

Raviv glanced at the others seated at the table. “Please excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, standing from his chair. “Walk with me, Nate,” he said quietly.

Shoulder to shoulder, Nate and Raviv strode down a corridor. He was aware that Brad had fallen in behind them, several steps back. Raviv kept his head down and his voice low.

“We are not in an official office and there are no witnesses to this conversation,” Raviv said.

“Understood,” Nate replied.

“Yitzhak Rabin sought out Prime Minister Eshkol at a dignitary reception in order to elicit permission for the call up two brigades of reservists. That’s 18,000 men, Lieutenant,” Raviv emphasized. “They’re to be deployed to the southern borders with Egypt.”

“Why did Eshkol agree to that?” Nate demanded. “He knows how provocative that will appear.”

“With the withdrawal of UNEF from the Sinai desert, nothing stands between Israel and an invading Egyptian force,” Raviv said, as if that explained everything.

“UNEF is only temporarily pulling back from two observation posts near the Straits of Tiran,” Nate said, confused.

Raviv stopped walking. Nate pulled up short and turned to face him.

“Lieutenant Fick,” Raviv said, watching Nate closely. “The U.N. Secretary General has ordered the complete withdrawal of all peacekeepers from Egypt. Effective immediately.”

Nate’s blood ran cold. If that was true, he wondered how Israel had found out even before Government House had been informed.

“Eshkol needs to give diplomacy a chance to work,” Nate said. “Thant must have an alternative plan.” He wondered who he was trying to convince. Orders for a withdrawal shouldn’t have been issued until both the Security Council and the General Assembly had weighed in.

“Israel may not have that kind of time,” Raviv said as he resumed walking.

“Please just tell me that the Prime Minister isn’t considering a first strike against Egypt,” Nate asked, seeking some sort of reassurance to take back to Godfather and General Bull.

“I am not privy to the Prime Minister’s thoughts,” Raviv hedged. “I’ve said all I can on the matter. Again, this conversation did not take place.”

Nate shook Raviv’s hand. “Thank you anyway, Moshe,” he said with sincerity.

As they left the Knesset and headed for the Jeep, Brad asked, “How bad is it?”

“We’re about to be caught up in a war and they’ll still be trying to sort it all out fifty years from now,” Nate replied. He didn’t think he was even exaggerating.

Brad drove them back to the U.N. compound. Nate noted absently that he’d managed to memorize all the main routes in a matter of a few days.

Inside Government House, no one was in Patterson’s office. An administrative aid passed by, heavily laden with papers.

“They’re in the planning room, Lieutenant Fick,” she said, her eyes flicking over Brad appraisingly.

They followed her down the corridor to the same room they’d used yesterday to plan the mission to Mount Scopus. Today it was filled with men in military uniforms of several countries and bustling administrative staff. Maps and memos were hung on walls and more papers were stacked along the tables.

Nate pushed through the crowd to where Godfather and Captain Patterson were in deep discussion with some of the UNEF staff, including Gunny Wynn.

“Lieutenant,” Godfather called when he caught sight of him, “did General Bull find you?”

“He did, Colonel,” Nate replied, giving respectful nods to everyone in the group. “I successfully executed the mission he assigned me. Is it as bad as it sounds?”

“You confirmed the call up of the IDF reservists?” Godfather asked.

“Affirmative. Is the Israeli information regarding UNEF accurate?”

There was a long pause while several people exchanged significant looks. Nate suddenly felt ill as dread washed over him.

Godfather turned back to Nate, “The question is how the Israelis found out. The order isn’t official yet, and General Rikhye hasn’t even informed his commanders.”

“That is unknown, sir. Deputy Foreign Minister Moshe Raviv is the one who informed me and it was completely off the record.”

“That cuts into our time table significantly,” Godfather mused.

“And we’ve already lost all the time we _should_ have had if U Thant had followed protocol and taken this to the Council and the Assembly,” Patterson said, his irritation obvious.

“Why _did_ the Secretary General cave in so quickly?” Nate asked.

It was Patterson who answered. “We have no idea. He and Rikhye both chastised Egypt for treating UNEF as a military issue instead of a diplomatic one, and then he completely ceased all diplomatic overtures and give Egypt _more_ than what it demanded.”

“Raviv couldn’t tell me if Eshkol’s considering a first strike,” Nate offered.

“Our hope is that General Bull can glean that information,” Godfather replied, “at the same time he advises Eshkol to remain cautious.”

“That’s going to be hard,” Patterson said, “with a hawk like Moshe Dayan whispering in his ear.”

“Dayan’s no fool,” Nate murmured, mostly to himself.

Godfather turned toward him, gaze sharpening. “No, he’s not. But apparently the Secretary General of the U.N. is one. With the peacekeepers completely out of the way, the slightest provocation is going to have Egypt, Israel, Syria and Jordan at each other’s throats. The worst _is_ going to happen. We have to be ready.”

Nate knew the next few weeks were going to be very long. He glanced behind him, meeting Brad’s eyes. There was no reassurance to be had in Brad’s expression. He was as convinced as everyone else that war was inevitable.

Nate sighed and turned back to listen to the initial planning of the UN’s response to war in the Middle East.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Monday, 23 May, 1967_ **

**_Via Dolorosa, Jerusalem  
1000 hours_ **

  
Nate was about to step into the market on Via Dolorosa when Brad’s hand fisted in his blouse, pulling him backward.

“It’s too congested in there,” Brad said. “I’m not comfortable with my ability to protect you if something happens.”

“What about everyone else who might get caught up in there?” Nate asked.

“They have their own police for that,” Brad replied. “I’m only worried about you.”

Nate chuckled and glanced over his shoulder. “Good to know.”

“It wasn’t this busy when we were here the other day,” Brad observed.

Nate had brought Brad here, two days after they’d made the supply run to Mount Scopus, to see the markers for the Stations of the Cross. He was right, there had been far fewer people dashing through the market then, than there were three days later.

“Imagine what you and your family would do if you were told on the morning news that your one single port, into which you receive most of your most precious supplies, had been blockaded by the Egyptian Army,” Nate replied.

“Knowing my mom, we’d be doing exactly what everyone here is doing: stockpiling, digging in and preparing for a siege,” Brad said.

They pushed through the crowd for a time, conversation difficult over the din of the crowd.

“Let’s go visit Rina and her family,” Nate shouted, as they neared the end of the street. “They’re going to be pretty heavily affected by this, I suspect.”

Nate headed the Jeep toward the Jewish Quarter. Once on foot, they found it difficult to move along the narrow, cobblestone streets. Women, many with children in tow, were heavily laden with recent purchases from the market on Via Dolorosa, and nearby grocery stores. They were stocking up on canned goods, flour, oil and sugar in preparation for a long war.

“I’m impressed with the restraint they’ve shown until now,” Brad said, leaning closer to Nate. “It took the closing of the Straits of Tiran to provoke them into digging in.”

“Not only that, up until today’s policy statement was issued, this was an open-ended conflict,” Nate explained. “Things could have calmed down at any time. Now, they believe they’ll be at war after the forty-eight hour waiting period expires.”

“What if the U.S. doesn’t support an Israeli act of aggression?” Brad asked.

“I don’t think it’ll stop them,” Nate said frankly. “There’ll be enough pressure on Johnson from American Jews that he’ll back Israel if Egypt strikes first. I don’t think anyone believes Egypt will strike first, though. Including Israel.”

The radio interrupted their conversation. Nate tilted his ear closer to the handset to hear the transmission. Whitmer’s words made his creeping sense of dread more acute. Eckhof followed up with his own significant observations.

Nate keyed his mic. “Hitman-Two, all Hitman observers be advised, Jewish populace is turning out to markets and grocery stores in force, stocking up on fundamental food stuffs. No signs of panic at this time, but that may change as staples run low.”

His transmission was acknowledged and the radio fell silent.

“What’s the word from the other observers?” Brad inquired.

“Thousands of Israelis are flooding the Knesset building to pay up their taxes. Others are making direct donations of cash and jewelry to the Defense Ministry,” Nate answered.

“What for?” Brad asked, his brow furrowing in puzzlement.

“To provide extra funds to purchase weapons.”

“Wow,” Brad said, glancing down to make sure he didn’t trod over a small child, “that’s patriotism.”

“Eckhoff reports that the public buses are being driven by old men and women,” Nate said.

“Because all of the young men have been called up for military service,” Brad concluded.

“Yep.”

They reached Riza’s house and Nate rapped on the front door. The young woman opened the door, giving them a tense smile when she recognized them.”

“Please, come in,” she said, holding the door wide. “And please excuse the mess.”

“That’s quite alright, Riza,” Nate said, smiling and stepping into the kitchen. “We just wanted to check on you, see how you and your family are doing, with all that’s going on.”

“We are baking,” she said, motioning around the room at their stockpiled food and the boxes of baked goods. “My cousins have been called up and we’re making cakes and tarts to send off to the Negev. They need more to eat than canned combat rations.”

“I’m sure they appreciate your efforts, Riza,” Nate said. “I always enjoy receiving care-packages from home.”

“It’s frightening,” Riza said, “but also very exciting.”

“I understand,” Nate replied.

“Will the two of you be alright?” Riza suddenly asked, glancing at Brad’s sidearm. “If Jerusalem becomes dangerous, if there is war with Jordan here in the city, will you two be alright?”

Nate was touched by her concern for them. “We will be, yes,” he assured her. “We can’t become involved in the conflict. If we can’t stop the hostilities, we’ll have to just get out of the way.”

“Please be safe,” Riza said.

Nate thanked Riza as he led Brad out of the apartment. As they stepped out into the heat of the sun, he took a deep breath. He hoped this wouldn’t be the last time he ever saw Riza and her family. War was coming to Jerusalem and the people were glad. He wondered if they’d feel the same way if they’d ever seen actual combat.

Nate knew what war waged on civilians looked like and he didn’t want that for the people of Jerusalem.

“You okay?” Brad asked quietly as he walked along beside Nate.

Sighing heavily, Nate answered, “I’ll be fine. I just wish everyone wasn’t so enthusiastic about war. They think it’s going to cure all of their troubles.”

“They see it as a temporary hardship they have to endure in order to ensure their continued survival,” Brad said. “Right or wrong, for them it’s not a choice between war and peace, but a choice between their very existence and annihilation.”

“Intellectually, I know that,” Nate replied, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck in agitation. “But their government is driving them toward a war that doesn’t have to happen, and they’re happy about it. What happens when the artillery starts to fall on their houses?”

“They’ll deal with it if or when it happens, sir,” Brad’s tone was even and calm. “Just like you’ll do. This is bigger than all of us.”

Nate shifted the radio pack, the straps seeming to dig in a little more than usual. “I just feel like I could have done something. I feel like I missed saying or doing something that could have prevented all of this.”

“I admire that about you; that you take responsibility and initiative.” Brad looked down from his greater height, holding Nate’s gave even as they walked to their next destination. “But you also need to recognize when you’ve done your best, and just prepare to handle the fallout in the best way you know how. When it’s over, these people will need you and you’ll be no good to them if you’ve made yourself sick worrying about the things that were out of your control.”

Nate glanced away, his face heating at Brad’s words and the look in his eyes. “Do you give all your commanding officers such sage advice?”

Brad turned to look down the street as they continued to walk. “Only the ones smart enough to listen to me.”

~*~ **  
 _  
2130 hours  
_  
**

Nate scrubbed his hands over his hair in frustration. He was exhausted. They all were. He knew he wouldn’t be able to shut off his brain in order to sleep, so he’d given up trying. At least here, in the strategic planning room, he felt useful.

“Sergeant Colbert,” Captain Patterson called.

Nate’s head snapped up. He glanced over at the door to see Brad slowly entering the room. His eyes were on Nate as he gave Patterson a respectful nod.

“Any chance you’ve come to take Lieutenant Fick out of here?” Patterson asked.

“As a matter of fact, sir,” Brad replied, “my men bartered for several bottles of a recreational beverage. I wondered if I could steal the lieutenant so that he might partake a little. He assisted in obtaining items we required for a successful transaction.”

“I don’t want to see it,” Patterson said, holding both hands palm out. “And I certainly don’t want to hear about it tomorrow morning.”

“There will be no violations of the Code of Conduct, Captain,” Brad said, smiling slightly. “You have my word.”

“Get him out of here then, Staff Sergeant,” Patterson said with a wave of his hand. “Make sure to get some food into him, too. I don’t know when the last time was he visited the mess.”

Nate was annoyed at being talked about like he wasn’t in the room. He just didn’t have the energy to protest.

Brad came up beside him and actually gripped the shoulder of Nate’s uniform. “Roger that, sir,” he said to Patterson. “I’ll take good care of him.”

Like a puppet on strings, Nate rose to his feet at the feel of Brad’s tug on his blouse. He was too tired to make what would be a token protest, given that he actually wanted to be in Brad’s company. It appeared Brad had found a way to make that happen in an acceptable situation.

“Take it easy tonight, Nate,” Patterson called after them. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Nate followed Brad to the mess. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until he smelled the food and his stomach rumbled in answer.

“Not to rush you, Nate,” Brad said, “but the guys are all waiting for us before they crack the seal on the first bottle.”

“They didn’t have to do that,” Nate said, frowning.

“They felt it was only right, given it was your contacts in town that got us some of what we needed for the trade,” Brad said around bites of food.

Memories of boot camp came flooding back as they both began to shovel their food as if they were being timed. It was never optimal for digestion but Nate had to admit he was feeling better now that he had food in him.

A group of Marines were gathered in a circle of lantern light outside of Brad’s billet. They had pulled up wooden crates and backless campstools. The animated conversations were punctuated by raucous laughter when Brad and Nate emerged from the darkness.

“’Evening, LT,” Poke greeted. “I see the Iceman was successful in his mission to locate you.”

“There was only one place to look,” Mike Wynn said. “He ain’t left the planning room in a couple of days.”

There were two empty campstools, placed side-by-side, completing the circle. Brad gestured toward one and Nate dropped down onto it heavily. Brad settled onto the stool next to him.

“I feel like we’re sitting on a powder keg,” Nate said, exhaustion rolling through him with every breath. “I don’t want to be asleep when the first shots are fired.”

“How did we even end up here?” Walt asked, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.

“First, we believed all the shit our recruiters told us,” Ray replied. “Then we signed on the dotted line …”

“Fuck you, Person,” Walt said giving Ray’s leg a kick, his smile belying his anger. “There have been so many chances in the last week to keep things from going to shit, but we still got here anyway.”

“It was the Soviets,” Pappy said. “They kept sayin’ that Israel was gonna attack Syria and go after the Golan Heights. Egypt promised to protect Syria. They gotta act tough just to save face.”

Nate watched as Poke picked up a tall, square shaped bottle of clear liquid. He pulled a cork from the neck and sniffed the contents. After an initial startle, he smiled appreciatively and took a long swig.

“Don’t drink it all fucker,” Kocher smiled and said to Poke before turning to Nate. “General Rikhye should have just told Nasser to go fuck himself when he demanded UNEF withdraw.”

“He couldn’t do that, brother,” Rudy replied. “Egypt is sovereign. UNEF was not an occupying force. When President Nasser said we had to go, we had to go.” __

“ _Sovereign_?” Kocher scoffed. “Where the fuck did a grunt like you learn a word like that?”

“Fuck you, brother,” replied Rudy, feigning insulting. “Expanding the mind is good for the soul.”

“Jesus Christ, Rudy,” Brad said with a smile. “You’re such a fucking hippy.”

Rudy grinned and reached out to Brad, hand flat and palm up. Brad slapped his palm against Rudy’s then flipped his hand over for Rudy to repeat the motion. The group laughed at their exchange and Nate found himself joining in. He felt some of the tension bleed from his body.

Poke handed off the still very full bottle to Pappy. After he took a long drink, he passed it to Eric and it began a slow journey around the circle.

“U Thant didn’t have to roll over and take it up the ass like a bitch,” Ray said with a roll of his eyes. “Nasser asked for two observation posts and U Thant says, ‘here take the whole fuckin’ Sinai’.”

“What I don’t get,” Mike said, “is if Rikhye and U Thant could convince Nasser that this was a diplomatic situation that needed to be discussed in committee, why the fuck did U Thant wait _three fuckin’ days_ to get on a goddamn plane to Cairo?”

Brad took the bottle as it was handed to him. Nate watched his throat work as he took a long drink.

Lowering the bottle, Brad said, “Nasser is posturing. He’s not fool enough to attack Israel. Even if the U.S. and other nations withhold their approval of Israel launching an attack, which is what Eban is off trying to get them to do, I don’t think Israel will care.”

Brad made a great show of wiping off the neck of the bottle with the sleeve of his blouse, when no one else had bothered before. With a smile, he handed it to Nate. Their fingers brushed as Nate took the bottle and he felt his smile falter slightly.

To mask his reaction to this sudden rush of emotion, Nate brought the bottle to his lips, strangely disappointed that Brad had wiped it clean. The liquid made his mouth tingle, it felt almost hot. He swallowed reflexively and the burn was surprising in its intensity. It scalded a path from his throat to his stomach.

Nate lowered the bottle on a gasp. “Wow,” he said, breathing deeply and looking at the bottle with newfound respect. “I haven’t had hooch like this since spring break of my junior year.”

“Where did you go to spring break that you were drinking bootleg liquor?” Brad asked.

“Myrtle Beach,” Nate answered. “’Cause it was easy to get.”

“When has booze been hard to get in Myrtle Beach during spring break?” Brad asked, one brow lifting quizzically. “Your junior year was what? Five years ago?”

Nate grinned at Brad. “My junior year in _high school_ ,” he said.

The Marines all made sounds of disbelief, Ray and Poke even calling Nate a liar.

“What?” he demanded, glancing around the circle. “Do I really look that much like an altar boy?”

Nate watched the group members glance from on to the other, their expressions resigned. Almost as one, they looked up. “Yeah, pretty much,” they said, nearly in unison.

“Fuck you, all,” Nate said with mock anger, gesturing with the bottle still in his hand. He took another long pull, ready for the burn this time and swallowing easily. Lowering the bottle, Nate glanced around at the expectant faces around him. “Alright. Maybe I was an altar boy.”

The group erupted into laughter, proclaiming their knowledge that Nate really had been that kind of squeaky-clean, well-behaved little boy.

Brad was smiling widely at Nate and it did strange things to his insides.

“I must say, sir,” Brad said, still smiling. “So far, you’ve been quite a lot of fun to debauch.”

Nate huffed a laugh, not entirely sure how Brad meant that, but feeling warmth pool in his belly, anyway. He covered his discomfit by handing off the bottle. He hoped that everyone would think his flushed cheeks were from the alcohol.

“Your turn, Lieutenant,” Brad said. “We’ve all asked a question or expressed an opinion. You’re in a unique position to know more than we do. What do you have to say?”

Nate waved him off. “No, no. You guys are blowing off steam. You don’t need an officer lecturing to you about politics and diplomacy.”

For several long moments, Brad regarded Nate through narrowed eyes before saying sharply, “Fine. Everybody, strip off your blouses.”

Without a word, the group of Marines all began to unbutton and slide out of their uniform jackets. Nate sat watching, baffled.

“You, too, Nate,” Brad said, gesturing for him to hurry. “You’re not exempt. Strip off your blouse.”

“What? Why?” he asked, hands lifting to his buttons as if of their own volition.

Nate watched as they all folded up their jackets and placed them on their seats. He did the same, for lack of a better idea of what to do. It left them all sitting in their uniform trousers and olive undershirts.

“There now,” Brad declared, gesturing around the circle. “Not a stripe or a bar in sight. You were saying?”

Nate could feel the liquor warming his blood now. Maybe it had loosened his tongue just enough. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Okay. First; yes, the Soviets were being provocative in telling Egypt that Israel was planning an attack on Syria. However, the IDF troops stationed on the border have been trying to antagonize the Syrians into attacking first. The Soviets are backing the UAR because the U.S. is supportive of Israel. It’s deliberately antagonistic. Yes.”

“That’s obvious in the statement they released today,” Pappy said. “The one saying that if Israel went to war with the UAR, the Soviet Union would back the Arabs.”

“Precisely,” Nate confirmed. “Nasser’s promise to aid Syria in the event of an Israeli attack backed him into a corner. He doesn’t want a war. He knows it wouldn’t be with just Israel, that the U.S. will almost definitely get involved. He made an attempt to appear strong by demanding UNEF withdraw from the observation posts at al-Sabha and Sharm al-Sheikh. General Rikhye made the first blunder by demanding clarification.”

Nate paused as Ray and Walt engaged in a game of keep-away with the hooch bottle. It ended when Mike snatched the bottle from Ray and handed it to Walt.

Nate laughed at their antics, along with the rest of the Marines then he picked up where he’d left off.“Instead of sticking to the letter of Nasser’s demand for withdrawal from two observation posts, he kept demanding clarification as to whether Egypt wanted an entire withdrawal.”

“In his defense, sir, General Rikhye is a military man and not a diplomat,” Brad said. “He’s more inclined toward giving and taking orders than parsing a sticky political situation.”

“Brad, if there’s no rank here, you probably shouldn’t call me ‘sir’,” Nate pointed out.

Brad grimaced. “Fine, _Nate_. But my point stands.”

“I know you’re not that naïve. Rikhye has been a senior advisor to two consecutive Secretaries General. He’s overseen the rollout of four separate peacekeeping missions. He can play the game well enough.”

“The General’s hands were tied when U Thant upheld Nasser’s right to expel UNEF without buying time by taking the issue to the Security Council and the General Assembly,” Brad had the bottle of booze again and he took a long drink.

“Agreed. Nasser exploited U Thant’s weak stance by advising Yugoslavia and India that he wanted UNEF out. As he knew they would, they unilaterally withdrew their committed troops. After that, everything fell like a house of cards.” Nate took the bottle from Brad and sipped at it. They were going to be here awhile and he didn’t want to get embarrassingly drunk.

Nate’s attention was arrested when Espera spoke up. “What I don’t get is why UNEF can’t be deployed on the Israeli side of the border. I mean, if the idea is to keep Egypt from invading Israel, and vice-versa, and to keep Egypt from blockading the Straits of Tiran, why can’t that be done from the Israeli side?”

“It can,” Nate answered. “And U Thant proposed that. Israel rejected it outright.” He handed the bottle across the circle to Pappy.

“I just don’t understand that,” Kocher said. “Doesn’t Israel want help preventing an attack and keeping the Straits open?”

“Sure they do,” Nate replied. “But to accept UNEF onto Israeli soil after they’d been evicted by Egypt would make Israel appear weak.”

“Not only that,” Brad said, glancing between Nate and Eric, “Israel feels that the countries that make up the Peacekeeping forces aren’t sympathetic toward them. The GOI believes UNEF would be more likely to inhibit an Israeli response to violence than to prevent Egyptian aggression.”

“I gotta say, I’m surprised Egypt didn’t invade right away,” Walt said. “Or at least bomb the power plant. Especially with how bad they treated UNEF during the withdrawal. They were taking shots over the border before the peacekeepers had even left the observation posts.”

“First of all,” Nate answered, “that was the PLO taking pot-shots over the border at Israel. The soldiers on the ground aren’t as informed as the politicians and the generals. They aren’t aware that it’s not a case of taking back the land from the Jews. They don’t realize they’d most likely be taking on the U.S. as well.”

“That day was filled with bad karma,” Rudy observed.

Pappy took the hooch bottle from Rudy and shoved the back of his head playfully before taking a long drink

“Things on the ground were outpacing the diplomacy taking place in New York,” Nate explained. “UNEF aircraft were banned from landing at al-‘Arish airport, which resulted in all of that food left to rot in the fuselages and the U.N. troops to go without supplies. Egypt took over the observation posts at al-Sabha and Kuntilla and fired artillery at the Peacekeepers still manning al-Qusayma.”

“Rikhye’s plane was fired on,” Walt added.

“But that was done by the Israelis,” Nate corrected. Brad tried to hand him the bottle once more and Nate waved it off. “You made a promise to Captain Patterson, remember?”

Brad captured Nate’s hand and pressed the bottle into it. “You’re still formulating clear and concise arguments, and you’re not slurring your speech, yet. You’re a long way off from embarrassing yourself and the UN”

Nate took a modest drink and realized the burning warmth in his chest and belly had grown pleasant, so he took another before passing the bottle on. He turned back to Walt and said, “Also, Rabin immediately apologized for the incident. I really don’t think it was intentional.”

“I’m not so sure,” Brad said with a shake of his head. “But getting back to UNEF’s withdrawal; on May 19th, Rikhye has no choice but to pull the Peacekeepers out of Gaza. As soon as the U.N. flag was lowered and Egyptian and PLO forces took over, they immediately began exchanging fire with the IDF over the border. Why wasn’t U Thant on a plane to Cairo that day? Why did he compound his first egregious error by not taking immediate diplomatic action?”

“Jesus, Brad; _egregious_?” Ray cried from across the circle. “Are you reading the same faggoty books as Rudy?”

Nate laughed heartily. The Marines were insulting each other over vocabulary, seemingly oblivious to fact they were engaged in a discussion worthy of a PhD dissertation. Nate couldn’t remember any discussion at Dartmouth that he’d enjoyed nearly as much.

Taking a deep breath, Nate chose his words carefully. “I believe U Thant viewed the time he spent justifying his decision to exceed Egypt’s demands to the General Assembly and the Security Council as solid diplomatic work. After all, he’d done all of this without consulting a single contributing nation. He’d violated his predecessor’s promise to Israel that no action like this would be taken without first consulting the Council and the Assembly. I really believe he felt that smoothing the ruffled feathers of the member nations was his best course of immediate action.”

Brad stared hard at Nate for several silent seconds. Nate refused to look away, even as he felt his cheeks flush under Brad’s regard.

Finally, Brad smiled. “You are so full of shit.”

Nate chuckled. “Either that or I’m not drunk enough, yet.” He held his hand out for the bottle and Walt handed it over eagerly.

“You take another couple of swigs and _then_ I’ll ask my next question,” Brad said, gesturing for Nate to keep drinking.

“What question is that?” Nate asked, dragged the back of his hand over his mouth. Brad’s eyes tracked the motion and Nate’s breath caught.

“This all happened on May 19th. Today is the 23rd and U Thant just, _just today_ , got on a plane to Cairo. Why did he wait so long and let things spiral so far out of control?”

Nate knew he should just say he didn’t know the answer to that. He’d had just enough to drink that he hesitated. It was an infinitesimal hesitation but Brad saw it.

“Nate? You know something, don’t you? Spit it out.”

The eager faces staring at him expectantly snapped Nate back to reality. “No. Huh uh. The last thing I need is for Patterson to hear, ‘but Lieutenant Fick said …’. No.”

“There’s no Lieutenant Fick here,” Poke said, glancing around as if searching for someone. “No officers, no rank at all. Just a bunch of grunts havin’ a drink and talkin’ shit.”

“We’ve shared drink with you, Nate,” Rudy said. “You’re part of our circle, one of our brothers, and we don’t turn on our brothers like that.”

The circle was silent and Nate realized they were talking about more than just repeating scuttlebutt. He glanced down at his hands, warmed at the feeling of acceptance. He’d never had this before. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

“Now give it up,” Brad pressed. “What do you know?”

“Everyone is aware that the Secretary General is originally from Burma, right?” At everyone’s nods of assent, Nate continued. “U is an honorific; his only official name is Thant.” He couldn’t help his smile. This rumor was just ridiculous enough to be true. “U Thant waited three days before going to Cairo because his horoscope said it was more propitious for him to travel.”

The group was silent and Nate knew they were trying to decide if he was fucking with them.

“That is so fucking retarded, I don’t even know what to say,” Brad muttered.

General sounds of disbelief rose from the group. Nate held up a hand.

“It’s just a rumor,” he said. “It’s completely unsubstantiated. However, it is in keeping with what we know about the Secretary General.” Nate took one more drink and handed the bottle to Brad.

“Okay, so UNEF’s been castrated,” Ray said, gesturing for everyone to silent. “We got Egypt and the PLO trading potshots with Israel over the border. Now we got Egypt flying MiG-21s over the Dimona nuclear reactor and Jordan is letting them use Jordanian airspace to do it. It’s a fucking powder keg around here. I don’t give a shit if Nasser and Eshkol both are saying they won’t be the first to attack, a match is gonna get tossed and the explosion is gonna be big.”

“Is there a question in there somewhere, Person?” Brad demanded.

“Jesus, Brad, keep your fuckin’ shorts on,” Ray snapped, “I’m gettin’ to it.” Turning back to Nate, he asked, “Of all the matches in the book, which one is most likely to get tossed?”

That was the question currently at the heart of each and every discussion taking place inside Government House. Everyone had an opinion but no one had much evidence.

“Eshkol has more than doubled the number of mobilized reserves and brought the number of tanks positioned down south to three hundred. He’s ready to do one of two things; open the Straits by force, or retaliate swiftly if Egypt attacks Dimona.” Nate explained.

“Shit,” Ray said, eyes opening wide in realization. “Israel’s promised no military action for forty-eight hours, and they’ve promised no first strike. But the blockade of the Straits can be construed as an act of aggression by Egypt.”

Nate nodded, impressed with Ray’s logical progression.

“ _Construed_ , Ray,” Brad said mockingly. “Give Rudy his queer book back.”

Ray’s answer was to give Brad the middle finger.

“What was that shit with Syria a couple of days ago?” asked Kocher suddenly.

“Of all the nations in the UAF, Syria is the most unstable,” Nate explained. “They’ve had thirteen coups in fifteen years. On the 20th, their defense minister said that Syria needed to adopt measures that would deal a disciplinary blow to Israel that would restore its senses and bring it to its knees. A humiliated and terrified Israel should live in awe and fear to prevent it from contemplating aggression.”

Walt whistled. “Thems fightin’ words.”

“You sound like such a fuckin’ hick,” Ray declared.

“Fuck you, Person,” Walt responded. “You know what a hick talks like ‘cause they’re always standin’ in line to fuck your mother.”

Ray grinned and drew breath to retaliate but Brad interrupted. “Hey! Would you two shut the fuck up and let the man answer?” His expression was hard but Brad’s voice was mild. Ray and Walt fell silent, but neither could stop smiling.

Nate just shook his head at the antics. “It all served to add additional pressure to Nasser as the head of the UAR. He mobilized Egypt’s reserves and even accepted Iraq’s offer to send armed troops.”

“Do you think Egypt deliberately waited until U Thant was in flight to blockade the Straits?” Pappy asked. “So he wouldn’t be able to do anything.”

“Honestly,” Nate replied. “Now that Nasser has neutralized UNEF in the Sinai, he’s free to pretty much disregard the U.N. entirely. He has the support of the UAR and its member nations, as well as the promise of Soviet intervention to counteract the U.S. support of Israel. He did it because he wanted to.”

“Now that U Thant is in Cairo,” Mike spoke up, “are there any reports of what he and Nasser are talkin’ about?”

Nate tried not to scoff as he answered Mike’s question. “It was reported to General Bull that the Secretary General was tired after his long trip and he postponed all meetings until tomorrow morning.”

Brad snorted. “We are so fucked. We’re on the brink of war and the Secretary General of the U.N. postponed peace talks so he could take a nap.”

“It’s not a matter of if, but when, ain’t it?” Poke asked.

Nate nodded. “I believe so. There may still be hope. If U Thant can talk sense into Nasser, and if Foreign Minister Eban can get France, England and the U.S. to pressure the UAR to stand down and open the Straights, maybe, _maybe_ , war can be averted.”

“How does Eban plan to do that?” Brad asked.

“He’s getting on a plane tomorrow,” Nate answered.

“Maybe _he_ should be Secretary General of the U.N.”

Nate snorted.

The group fell silent. Nate could tell they were absorbing and analyzing all the information that had been exchanged. He felt companionable, as if they were all in this untenable situation together. Nate wasn’t alone.

The alcohol had warmed him, left his muscles feeling languid. He knew he’d sleep well tonight, and suddenly Nate was very tired.

Skimming a hand over his face, he said, “Well, gents, it seems the last week is finally catching up with me. I should go get some sleep.”

Nate stood and collected his blouse. He wasn’t aware Brad had also risen until a hand stopped him from putting on his blouse.

“No need for that until tomorrow,” Brad said, taking Nate’s blouse and simply draping it over his shoulder. “I’ll walk you to your hooch.”

“I’m a Marine, too, Brad,” Nate scoffed. “You don’t have to make sure I get to my door safely.”

“No, I don’t, but we have business to discuss and I don’t want to ruin everyone’s buzz with the boring details.”

Nate called his goodnight and accepted the well wishes of the other Marines. He stepped out of the circle of light and into the darkness, Brad at his side.

Once out of earshot of the group, Nate said, “You don’t really have anything to talk to me about, do you?”

“No,” Brad replied. “I just haven’t had a moment alone with you in … over a week, at least.”

“Thank you, for tonight,” said Nate. He rolled his shoulders, realizing they had lost nearly all of their tension. “I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to take a break.”

“I liked seeing you relaxed and enjoying yourself.” Brad nudged Nate’s shoulder. “It was a like preview.”

“A preview? I like that idea.” Nate stopped walking, reluctant for this quiet time to end. “I feel like I monopolized the conversation, though. I hope no one was too bored.”

“Not even close,” said Brad, running a hand up Nate’s arm. “They’ve had us running in circles and everyone is stressed out, but there isn’t a lot of information. You finally put it all in perspective for them.”

“As long as they didn’t feel like I was lecturing them.” Nate couldn’t help himself. He reached out slowly until he could place his palm against Brad’s waist.

“I could give a shit if they did.” Brad stepped closer, his hand wrapping around the back of Nate’s head. “I’ve never met anyone so fucking smart who wasn’t also in danger of shooting himself in the foot.”

“No?” Nate breathed, not even sure what they were talking about anymore. He slid his hands around Brad’s waist and smoothed them up his well-muscled back.

Brad’s lips were warm when they finally pressed against Nate’s.

“Jesus, I didn’t think you existed,” Brad whispered against Nate’s temple.

“I’ve been thinking the same fucking thing about you.” The quiet sounds of the U.N. compound settled around them as the stood in the darkness, bodies pressed together lightly.

“Go get some sleep,” Brad finally murmured. “This shit’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

Nate pressed their lips together one final time before stepping back, immediately feeling bereft without the feel of Brad’s solid heat. Reluctantly, slipped into the darkness, heading for his hooch and hopefully, sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Friday, 2 June, 1967 _ **

**_Arab Quarter – Jerusalem  
1100 hours_ **

  
“Have any of the other teams checked in?” asked Brad, as they pushed through the crowded streets of the Arab Quarter.

“Whitmer and Poke are keeping an eye on a Mizrahi neighborhood that’s still digging trenches,” Nate replied. “Eckhoff and Pappy are over at the Knesset building keeping an eye out in the event it looks like the GOI are getting ready to declare war.”

“Has Dayan been spotted around today?”

“No, which makes me nervous,” he answered. “Whitmer says everyone digging trenches are vocally calling for Eshkol to step down in favor of Dayan. They’re convinced he’s the only one who can successfully go to war against Egypt.”

“Are Person and Schwetje still alive?”

“Ray’s last transmission had them at the Mandelbaum Gate.” Nate smiled. “If he’s to be believed, Ray’s having an historical discussion with the Jordanians and Schwetje lost all comprehension the first time the word Hashemite was used.”

Brad snorted. “Would you believe Ray was on the debate team in high school?”

Nate glanced at Brad in surprise then considered his words for a moment. “That makes sense when I actually think about it.”

“Has Eric managed not to kill McGraw?”

“Just barely, it seems. They’re in an Ashkenazi neighborhood and apparently the stockpiling of food stuffs has declined significantly.”

“They’ve probably realized there isn’t that great a danger of shortages,” Brad mused.

Nate glanced down the street. Trenches had been dug around all of the houses along the street. Each was deep enough to put street level at a grown man’s shoulders. Arabs and Jews both had dug in, preparing for war.

The question of the last two weeks remained, though; who would strike first; Egypt or Israel? Increasingly, it looked like it would be Israel.

Nate’s attention was captured by raised voices just ahead of them. Two groups of men stood in the center of the street, facing off. Heated words became angry shouts and Nate quickened his pace.

“Careful, Nate,” Brad said from close behind.

Nate pressed himself between the two groups, speaking calming words in Arabic. From what he could gather from the argument being shouted in Arabic, one group of men had taken labor jobs under European names. It was a common method of trying to fit in and to placate Ashkenazi employers.

The second group considered the first to be sell-outs; traitors. With war imminent, the prevailing mood had them at each other’s throats. The second group, the more traditional Palestinians, were convinced that Israel was about to be destroyed and the Palestinians that had sold out, in their views, were traitors to the Palestine that would emerge from the ashes.

One of the men put his hands on Nate, gripping his uniform and moving to either push or pull him out of the way. Adrenaline spiked through Nate and he braced both of his feet to hold his balance. He grabbed his assailant by the wrists then shifted one hand to grab him in a thumb-lock.Nate broke the grip of one of the hands buried in his uniform. He took a step back, ready to free himself completely. Brad appeared directly in front of Nate, his broad back blocking Nate’s view of the man still holding tight to his uniform.

Suddenly, Nate was free. Brad had inserted himself between Nate and his assailant, one hand on the man’s chest, the other hovering in the vicinity of his sidearm. He barked commands sharply in Arabic, repeating them in English. They all backed off. The group looked like they were ignoring Brad, even as they followed his every instruction.

Nate turned to the group still pressing against him. He kept his voice low, trying to calm the situation. The group facing him complied, even as they shouted insults and epithets at the ones retreating in the face of Brad’s authority. Nate finally ordered them to disperse, to return to their own homes.

Occasional insults were tossed back and forth and all the men disappeared back to where they belonged, leaving the street bustling with the activities of a people digging in for a siege.

“No more of that, if you don’t mind, sir,” Brad said, approaching Nate. “We’re not police. Could we please leave the street-level conflicts to them?”

“We were here and the police weren’t,” said Nate, even knowing Brad was right.

“Next time, stay on the edges, don’t wade into the fray,” Brad’s request was firmly made. “Please.”

Nate leaned in and lowered his voice. “That might be difficult. You’re pretty hot when you’re being a bossy Marine.”

Brad smiled down at him, his eyes heating something deep inside of Nate. He tilted his head in the direction they had been walking before they’d been distracted by the altercation. “Come on. Let’s get back to patrolling. The sooner I have you back in the DMZ, the better I’ll feel.”

“At least we’ve got a relatively safe place to go,” Nate said on a heavy sigh. “These people here, in this neighborhood, are going to bear the brunt of things when war finally breaks out.”

“They’re not going to round them all up?” Brad asked, his body tensing and concern evident in the lines of his face.

“Not immediately, no,” replied Nate. “The head of Security Services wants them under military supervision, though. Overnight curfews will be instituted and many Arabs may even be forcibly relocated. The military advocate general is preaching caution, thankfully, with any luck the needless deaths will be kept to a minimum.”

Through static on the radio, Nate thought he heard his call sign. “Go for Hitman-Two,” he said.

“ _Are you clear to respond to Rishon Lezion?”_ Whitmer asked. _“We’re on Weizmann Street_.”

Nate’s brows furrowed in puzzlement. “Affirmative. Is there trouble?”

“ _Not yet_ ,” came Whitmer’s reply. “ _We might have Civil Defense moving through here and I just want confirmation that’s all they are_.”

“Roger that. We’re enroute.” To Brad Nate said, “We’re going to meet up with Whitmer and Espera in the Jewish Quarter.”

Nate hid his amusement when Brad began to navigate their way back to the Jeep. He knew these neighborhoods as well as Nate did, now.

Inside the Jewish Quarter, Brad parked the Jeep on a wide, well paved, heavily traveled street. The shops that lined it were all open, but the street was nearly deserted of both vehicle and foot traffic.

“The call up of reserves really impacted the population,” Brad observed.

“That and people are fleeing the country,” Nate said over his shoulder as he paid a street vendor for a copy of the newspaper _Maariv._ “We’ve got reports of airplanes leaving Israel full and returning empty.”

“Is this because of the defense pact between Egypt and Jordan?” Brad inquired.

“Absolutely,” replied Nate. “I’m sure it also has the GOI in a panic, realizing they’re going to have to neutralize Jordan as well as Egypt before they go after the Golan Heights.”

“You still think that’s the end game?”

“That and securing the Old City. Oh yes.” Nate opened the newspaper and scanned its contents as the two of them walked. “ _Maariv_ is still calling for Eshkol to step down so Moshe Dayan can take power.”

“Do you think that’ll happen?” asked Brad.

“If something doesn’t start the war soon, I think the hawks will find a way around Eshkol.”

Up ahead, a crowd had gathered outside of the Café Roval. As they drew closer, Nate could see the inside was nearly bursting at the seams. The balcony above the street had several people seated and being attended by nurses.

Brad approached a man standing in the line to enter and asked him, in Hebrew, what the fuss was. Nate couldn’t hear the answer.

Brad came back to Nate’s side. “It’s a blood donation station,” he told Nate.

Nate shook his head. “If they aren’t fleeing the country, they’re baking cookies for the soldiers and giving blood and their life savings.”

Brad pushed through the crowd and Nate followed, still scanning the newspaper.

“Am I reading that right?” Brad suddenly asked. “Are they comparing Nasser to Hitler?”

Nate turned to the last page of the newspaper to see the op ed Brad indicated. “Yes, they’ve been doing that since this thing started. It’s psychological propaganda.”

“I admit, it is a bit of an extreme comparison but Nasser _is_ interested in annihilating all Jews,” said Brad.

“It’s still an unfair comparison,” maintained Nate. “Nasser isn’t going to send troops anywhere but what he considers to be Palestine, which is the state of Israel. He isn’t going to go invading Europe and embarking on a systematic elimination of Jews.”

“That’s a fair point, sir,” Brad said, after several moments of contemplation.

“It’s not unlike the campaign of disinformation Israel has embarked on, as well,” said Nate.

“You mean the promises to not launch a first strike against Egypt?” asked Brad.

“Precisely. They’re placating the UN, the U.S., and they’re hoping to mislead Nasser with this feigned passivity.”

“How much longer do you think it’ll be?”

“Days. Inside of a week at most.”

When Nate and Brad reached Whitmer’s and Poke’s position, they were deep in conversation with a young woman and an elderly man. As they approached, Espera greeted them and Whitmer made introductions.

The woman, Mirim, had moved herself and her infant son in with her father-in-law when her husband, David, had been called up for military service.

“They were just telling us that the Civil Defense authorities were inspecting basements in the neighborhood,” Whitmer explained.

Nate asked Mirim why civil defense would be interested in basements.

“We use them as bomb shelters,” she replied.

“I asked the same thing,” said Whitmer with a smile.

“They instructed us also to purchase black paper and tape to block out our windows,” Mirim added.

“Do you welcome war?” Whitmer asked exactly what Nate was wondering.

“No, I would much prefer for this to end without war,” she replied earnestly. “We want nothing more than to live in peace. That is not possible, so the next best thing is to strike quickly and show the world Israel’s might.”

It was a sentiment Nate had heard repeated hundreds of times in the last week.

“What is that radio broadcast?” Brad asked, calling Nate’s attention to a bombastic voice blasting from a nearby transistor radio.

“The Voice of Thunder,” the old man answered.

“I don’t know that broadcast,” said Nate.

“It’s broadcast from Cairo,” Mirim said.

“But that’s Hebrew,” said Brad, obviously confused.

“ _Your leaders will not help you – they will bring the Holocaust upon you!_ ” bellowed the voice.

Nate whistled.

“Everyone who can pick up Cairo has been wetting themselves with fear over the last few weeks,” Mirim said with a small smile.

The four men all laughed softly at her humor then graciously excused themselves.

“I want to have a talk with those civil defense guys,” said Whitmer.

“I think we’ll run into them up this direction,” said Poke, indicating further up the street.

“They’re probably legit but I’d like to try to find out what they’re thinking,” Whitmer told Nate.

“It sounds like a pretty standard response for a people who are anticipating air strikes,” Nate told him.

“What’s that structure there?” Brad asked, indicating a sprawling facility across the street from them.

“That’s Rehavia high school,” Whitmer answered. “That large building is the gymnasium.”

As they passed by the campus, Nate saw the sandbags, piled past the windows of the gym.

“Dawg, these people are serious,” Poke mused.

At the end of the street, activity in a park on a cross street caught their attention.

“Is that them?” asked Poke.

“No, those are rabbis,” answered Nate.

They crossed the street and quietly entered the fenced area.

Whitmer greeted the rabbis in a respectful manner. Their answers were friendly, if subdued.

Nate listened as Whitmer inquired as to who they were.

“Oh, some of us are from the chief rabbinate. Some are from the Jerusalem Hevre Kaddisha,” one Rabbi answered, gesturing at various members of his group as he spoke.

“May we inquire as to what you’re doing in the park today?” asked Whitmer.

“We are visiting all the public parks today,” he replied. “We must sanctify them to serve as cemeteries.”

Nate had to work to keep his jaw from dropping. It was a very practical plan but the casual acceptance of the onerous task took him off guard.

Whitmer wished the group well and bid them _Shabbat Shalom_. The four of them left the park.

“Nate,” Whitmer called and Nate turned at the sound of his name. “Have Colbert check your radio. You’re not hearing Eckhof hailing us.”

Nate stopped walking so Brad could examine the lead connections on the radio pack, while Whitmer answered Eckhof for the both of them.

“I don’t see anything,” Brad muttered.

Whitmer approached. “Come on, we’ll have that American radio genius look at it when we all meet up.”

Nate thought he meant Corporal Person, but Ray was patrolling with Schwetje, not Eckhof. “Where are we going?”

“To the Arab Quarter, there’s an Egyptian general amassing a crowd like he’s getting ready to address them,” Whitmer answered. “Schwetje’s already there and Eckhof thinks we should head over. You know what’ll happen if McGraw shows up. Those two could finally touch off this inevitable war.”

“What’s going on at the Knesset building?” asked Nate.

“He says things are very tense and everyone is still in Committee,” replied Whitmer. “What do you think, Nate? Will they oust Eshkol in favor of Dayan?”

“I think there’s a very real chance of it,” Nate answered glumly.

There was definitely a crowd gathering in the center of the Arab Quarter when they arrived. When Schwetje spotted them, he came dashing over, Ray following at much more sedate.

“Do you think we should do something?” Craig asked, clearly overwhelmed by the unexpected event.

As Ray drew closer, Brad indicated Nate’s radio and together they set about seeing if they could fix the problem.

“Who is he?” Whitmer asked Schwetje.

“He’s a military general,” Craig answered, obviously confused by the question.

“Is he Egyptian? Jordanian? Syrian?” Whitmer’s annoyance was blatant.

“Um … he’s Arab.”

Whitmer snorted derisively and stepped several feet away, muttering to himself.

“Craig, have you asked anyone in the crowd who he is?” Nate asked.

“No …”

Anything else Schwetje might have asked was lost when Nate’s radio crackled to life. “Hitman-Two, radio check.” Glancing over, he saw Ray standing with Whitmer’s handset.

Nate keyed the mic and replied, “Loud and clear.” He turned his attention back to Craig. “They’ve gathered to hear him, they must know who he is.”

Pushing past Schwetje, Nate approached a young Arab man. As they exchanged a traditional greeting, Nate watched the man’s eyes take in his blue hat before his body settled into more relaxed lines.

“General Riyad,” was the answer.

Nate’s heart slammed against his ribs. His eyes darted to the man as he held up his hands for silence. Nate turned on his heel, nearly colliding with Brad, and strode back to the others.

“That’s al-Shuqayri,” Nate told Whitmer, knowing Schwetje wouldn’t grasp the subtle implications.

“As in head of the PLO, al-Shaqayri?” Whitmer asked.

“Yep,” Nate confirmed. “The PLO is kicking a hornet’s nest.”

“They just don’t realize they’re the hornets and Israel is going to kill them all,” Brad said from beside him.

Even as they watched and listened, al-Shaqayri’s speech became fiery and filled with anti-Zionist rhetoric. The crowd grew in size and in intensity. As the outer edges of the crowd reached where they stood, Nate suddenly felt a sharp tug on his blouse. Turning, he saw Brad’s hand fisted in the olive-drab material.

“If you wouldn’t mind stepping back, sir,” Brad said, now pulling on Nate’s uniform.

Nate had no choice but to take several steps backward, even as he tried to keep his attention focused on al-Shaqayri and the restless crowd.

Young men began to run through the streets, shouting encouragement to al-Shaqayri. Others called for the downfall of Israel.

al-Shaqayri pledged that PLO forces were ready to take up positions on the Jordanian front and frenzy erupted.

“Nate, you really need to step back,” Brad said with more urgency, tugging roughly on Nate’s collar this time.

“Should we do something?” Craig asked, from the very rear of their small group.

“We’re observers,” Whitmer shouted over the din of the crowd. “This _is_ what we do.”

The shouting group swelled around them, pushing against them. Brad had a hold of Nate’s arm now, his grip bruising. al-Shaqayri promised the PLO had modern weapons and he himself was going to direct their use.

The crowd erupted into a joyous frenzy. Brad’s hand on his shoulder was painful and unrelenting. Nate had no choice but to follow. He was vaguely aware of Person and Espera doing their best to put themselves between Schwetje and Whitmer in the same way Brad was shielding Nate.

Whitmer began to shout into the radio, advising Government House of what was happening. When they were finally outside of the general melee, Nate cradled the radio receiver to listen to the updates from around the city.

All U.N. observers were being advised to stand back and do just that; observe. Soldiers and police would handle what was quickly becoming a riot. Western consulates were being attacked, as well as many high-profile Jewish facilities.

Nate hoped their presence around the city would curb the violence, of both the protesters and the soldiers. Something glass smashed into the wall just above his head. Brad pushed him flush against the wall and stood directly in front of him. Brad’s hand hovered just above his sidearm and Nate was glad he hadn’t pulled it.

“Try to stay calm,” he said, stretching up to speak directly into Brad’s ear. “If you pull your weapon you might escalate things.”

“Due respect, Nate,” Brad shouted over his shoulder, “shut up and let me do my job.”

Just over an hour after the General had first appeared, the crowd around them began to thin. Nate supposed it was because al-Shuqayri had moved on, if not left Jerusalem altogether. Rioters around the city were clashing with soldiers who were trying to quell them. Nate hoped this wouldn’t be the match that finally lit the flames of war.

Observers around the city were giving updates and to Nate’s relief, it sounded as though things were calming down.

Brad finally stepped away and let Nate move out into the street.

“We’re gonna be doing paperwork all night,” Whitmer said with a derisive grin.

Nate grinned back. “We sure as hell have observed a lot of shit today.”

Nate’s radio blared his call sign. “Go for Hitman-Two,” he replied.

“ _This is Assassin-Actual_ ,” Patterson’s voice carried over the air. “ _Double-time it to the Knesset building. General Bull has some contacts that are saying the GOI’s about to announce a new Minister of Defense_.”

Nate was confused. Realization dawned even as he keyed the mic. “Israel doesn’t have a Minister of Defense.”

“ _Then I guess you better find out if they made one and who it is_ ,” Patterson replied.

“Roger that. Hitman-Two out.” Nate already knew who the new minister was and his heart sank. War was coming in the next day or two.

“Quick, Nate,” Whitmer said, “Twenty bucks. Who do you want? Allon or Dayan?”

“No bet,” Nate said as he started jogging toward where they’d parked the Jeep. “The people have been calling for Dayan to replace Eshkol. Get ready, gentlemen. War is on the horizon.”

When they reached the Jeep, Brad pushed Nate toward the passenger seat. “If this shit flares up again, I want you keeping your head down.”

Brad’s tone told Nate there was no point in arguing. He set the radio in the backseat and climbed into the passenger seat as Brad started the engine.

“Why are you sure they gave the job to Dayan?” Brad asked.

“He’s popular with the people. He’s been touring the troop positions and has the backing of the IDF. He’s who’s been maneuvering to replace Eshkol if the Rafi party launched a coup. He’s got the backing of the Mapai party.”

“You really think Israel’s been teetering on the brink of a coup as well as war all this last week?”

“Yes, I do. The IDF wants to attack and Eshkol’s caution is viewed as weakness.”

“Fuck,” Brad muttered.

The Knesset building was a flurry of activity when Brad and Nate arrived. Asking around, Nate discovered that anyone he needed to talk to was either gathered outside of, or was actually inside the meeting of the ministers. He led Brad down several corridors until they came upon a group of haggard looking officials.

Spotting Eshkol’s assistant, Adi Yaffe, Nate approached him. “Is my job about to get a lot harder, Adi?” he asked.

Yaffe pulled Nate away from the gathering. “As is mine, I fear.”

“Is it true? Are they making Dayan Minister of Defense?”

“Moshe Dayan accepted the position of Minister of Defense at four-fifteen yesterday evening.”

“What? There’s been no announcement.”

“It is more complicated than just creating a new minister. You know politics. Ground had to be given while other ground was taken.”

“What does that mean, Adi?”

“Mapai has lost power. Golda Meir lost influence. Manacham Begin has been given a legitimate role in the government.”

Nate’s eyes widened in shock. “Begin? He’s been given a role in the government.”

Yaffe nodded.

“That opens the door for the Mizrahi.”

“Indeed it does.”

“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” Brad said from just behind Nate. “Is that the Chief of Staff?”

Nate and Yaffe looked to where Brad had indicated. Indeed, Nate spotted a rather frail looking Yitzhak Rabin.

“Yes, it is,” Nate confirmed. “Why?”

“He looks ill. Does he need medical attention?”

Beside Nate, Yaffe stiffened.

“Adi?” Nate asked.

“It’s not common knowledge, yet, but Mr. Rabin had a nervous breakdown last week.”

Nate’s jaw dropped. “Did that contribute to the call for Dayan to replace Eshkol?”

“It didn’t help. I feel I am partially responsible. I took a long lunch, yesterday, to assist a reporter from _Time_ who is writing about the Prime Minister. In my absence, many people spoke with him, who I would normally have prevented. I fear the pressure became too much.”

“So, what now?”

“They are still working out the demarcation of responsibility between the Prime Minister and the new Minister. The General Staff met this morning with all the ministers.”

“And?”

“The generals again demanded we go to war.”

“Minster Dayan was interviewed today by the grandson of Winston Churchill. He told the reporter that it would be six months before Israel was ready for war.”

Nate nodded his understanding. It was more in the Israeli campaign of disinformation. “Tomorrow, then?”

“I can’t say. No more than a few days.”

“They really need to give the Regatta an opportunity to have an influence.” Nate was grasping at straws now; they both knew it.

“Lieutenant Fick, there was no guarantee the Regatta can even be formed.” Yaffe’s tone was apologetic. “None of the countries that have promised to participate have even started a ship in our direction.”

“What if the U.S. started a ship toward the Straits?” Nate grasped at his final straw. “That would show Egypt that the Regatta was serious and the other nations could rendezvous near the Suez Canal and enter the Straits together.”

“And just how many days away is the nearest U.S. vessel?” Yaffe asked sympathetically. “It would be weeks before the Regatta would enter the Straits. The countries offering to participate have enough difficulty coming to agreement in the U.N. Security Council, Lieutenant. Realistically, would they ever really form a Regatta?”

Nate sighed in frustration, knowing Yaffe echoed what had been spoken amongst the members of the GOI. Even if the Regatta formed, the Israelis didn’t feel they had the time to wait for it to arrive.

“Thank you, Adi,” Nate said, shaking the man’s hand.

Turning quickly, Nate grabbed Brad’s arm and lead him from the building.

“What’s your assessment?” Brad asked.

“I think Dayan’s going to send the Israeli Air Force into Egypt before the weekend is out,” Nate answered darkly. “Rikhye’s still evac’ing UNEF from the region. He needs to know they’re all in imminent danger.”

“Back to Government House?”

“Yes. General Bull needs to warn General Rikhye before the Peacekeepers are caught in the crossfire.”


	9. Chapter 9

**_Monday, 5 June, 1967_ **

**_The City of Jerusalem_ **

  
Nate had stopped listening to Schwetje ask pointless and unrelated question after pointless and unrelated question. Beside him, Brad sighed heavily. Nate knew he couldn’t look at Brad. If he did, he knew he’d see him roll his eyes and he wasn’t sure he could keep from laughing. He glanced at his watch, impatient for the interminable briefing to end. 0815 hours. Craig had been at it for an entire five minutes.

Because Nate had unwisely let his attention wander, he was startled when one of the admin workers burst into Patterson’s office. “Captain Patterson, sir, Kol Israel Radio just announced that Egypt is attacking Israel,” the young man said, slightly out of breath, color high on his cheeks. “Soldiers on leave were instructed to return to their units immediately.”

The room was silent for several long moments as they all absorbed the information and the implications. Nate was strangely relieved that the other shoe had dropped at the same time his worst fear was realized. Suddenly, everyone began to talk at once. Nate and Whitmer directed questions at Patterson, the rest of the group began to talk to each other.

Patterson shouted to the admin over the din, “Go find Godfather and see if he’s heard anything from General Rikhye that confirms this. If it’s true, UNEF forces could be in danger.”

Before the admin could move, Godfather appeared in the doorway along with General Odd Bull.

“Captain Whitmer, Lieutenant Fick,” Godfather called, “You’re with General Bull.”

“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.

“Get your peacekeepers and grab a vehicle,” General Bull added. “You’re going to follow me to the Knesset building for a meeting with the ministers.”

The general didn’t wait for them to respond, but turned to walk down the hall. Nate, Brad, Whitmer and Poke scrambled to catch up. As he walked, General Bull talked over his shoulder. “A Foreign Ministry official called me with a request that I hurry over there. Apparently, it’s too important to wait until the 1030 opening that I have in my schedule today, so I’m going now.”

“I imagine this is about the alleged Egyptian attack on Israel?” Whitmer asked.

“That would be my guess,” Gen Bull answered.

As they crossed to the garage, air-raid sirens began to sound throughout the city.

Brad drove the Jeep, following the car containing the general and his driver. Whitmer and Poke were in the backseat.

“It’s really started, hasn’t it?” Brad asked with a quick glance askance at Nate.

“It looks like it has,” answered Nate. “Now we just have to sort out who did what to whom.”

From the backseat, Whitmer said, “As well as what the hell is going to happen now.”

They made it through the city quickly and once inside the Knesset, were shown immediately to the ministry assembly room.

Golda Meir, Secretary General of the Mapai party, stood to address General Bull. She was a small yet formidable woman; with a prominent nose and steel-gray hair pulled tightly into an ever-present bun. She, more so than many of the men also in the ministry room, was a significant contributor to the formation of the modern Israeli state. “General Bull, at ten minutes past eight o’clock this morning, Egyptian airplanes violated Israeli airspace,” she said in a clear, strong voice.

“That is regrettable,” General Bull replied. “What is Israel’s response to this?”

“Israel is responding the only it can; with all the might of the IAF,” Meir answered. “We will destroy Egypt’s air force so that they are no longer a threat to our survival. What we need from you, General, is to relay a message to King Hussein of Jordan.”

“You wish me to relay a message to the King of Jordan?” the General’s tone was surprised but mocking.

“Please help him to understand that exercising the mutual defense pact with Egypt would be folly,” said Meir. “Israel has no wish to attack Jordan, and _will not_ attack Jordan, unless provoked. If King Hussein makes no move against us, we will not attack them. However, if Jordan attacks Israel, we will respond with full force.”

“I understand,” General Bull replied. “I need to return to my offices in order to contact King Hussein.”

“Of course,” Meir said magnanimously. “Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, General. We wish you all possible luck in helping His Majesty to understand that attacking Israel would result in a full-scale response.”

“Thank you, Minister,” the General responded.

Again, the group of Marines had to rush to keep up with General Bull as he rapidly left the assembly room.

“Gentlemen,” he said to Nate and Whitmer as they flanked him. “Did that sound to you as though the U.N. was asked to relay a threat to the King of Jordan?”

“It did, sir,” Nate concurred and Whitmer nodded his agreement.

“It is not the UN’s role to carry threats,” said the General. “However, in this instance, I see no other choice. Especially if it will spare lives.”

General Bull slid into his car and his driver whisked him off toward Government House. Brad, Nate, Whitmer and Espera all climbed into the Jeep and Brad pulled out onto the road.

“How do you think King Hussein will respond?” Brad asked as they also headed back to the U.N. HQ.

“Pride will dictate he act against Israel, despite the consequences,” Nate replied glumly.

Whitmer made a sound of agreement from the backseat.

Traffic was unusually heavy and Brad drove aggressively through it to get them back to Government House. He’d no sooner parked the Jeep than Nate leaped from his seat and went in search of Captain Patterson. He found him in his office.

“We need you to get out and observe,” Patterson said, looking as harried and Nate had ever seen him. “The Israeli press is reporting nothing. The only news is coming from The Voice of Thunder out of Cairo, broadcasting in Hebrew. They’re saying Tel Aviv is burning, but we know that’s not true. Kol Israel is saying the Egyptian air force has been decimated, but we can’t confirm that.”

“Has anyone heard from General Rikhye?” Nate asked.

“We’ve heard from Rikhye, New York has heard from him,” replied Patterson. “Egypt and Israel are at war but we have no information on casualties or damages.”

“What about within the city here?” Whitmer asked. “Any clashes between Jordan and Israel?”

“Not as of yet. There are rumors that Jordan is going to try to take Mount Scopus but so far, no movement has been observed along those lines. Get out there and get a handle on what exactly is going on.” Patterson reinforced his order with an impatient gesture for them all to get moving.

As they exited Government House, Brad turned in the direction of his billet instead of the garage. “Meet me at the Jeep, I need to get something,” he called as he jogged off.

In minutes, Brad appeared with a small transistor radio. “I borrowed it from Eric,” he explained, tuning it to Kol Israel before turning it off.

They climbed back into the Jeep. “We need to stay along the demarcation line,” Nate explained. “We need to keep an eye on the Jordanian troops and the Israeli troops. Whitmer and Poke are going to handle Mount Scopus.”

Brad drove and they rode in silence for awhile.

“You must be worried about everyone,” Brad finally said.

It was as if he’d read Nate’s mind. “I am. Shalhevet isn’t very young. Rina has her entire family to look after. Everyone’s in danger and there’s nothing I can do. My job is to stand by and watch it all happen.”

“Your job is to let your presence inhibit hostilities,” said Brad. “By being there watching, with them knowing you’re watching, you may keep them all from doing something stupid.”

“God, I hope so,” Nate sighed.

Brad parked the Jeep and they headed out on foot. Nate could feel Brad close on his six, reaching out to touch him periodically as they had to push through the heavy crowd. Once again, the stores and markets were filled to overflowing with residents stocking up on food.

They reached an intersection and had to wait several minutes to cross. Traffic was heavy with vehicle after vehicle filled with IDF soldiers. As Nate finally stepped off the curb, another air-raid siren sounded. That sound had begun to grate on his nerves.

The troops along the demarcation line were surprisingly calm. It was as though it was any other day, not the day Egypt and Israel had gone to war. Nate walked along the concrete barriers and barbed wire fences talking with the troops. Everyone was cordial. No one knew what was happening. 

Another air-raid siren wailed and Nate glanced at his watch. 1100 hours.

A loud explosion rocked the city. Nate gasped at the volume and the force of the concussion. He ducked reflexively, even though he had no idea where it had happened or what had caused it. Brad’s hand fisted in the sleeve of his uniform and Nate reached out and grabbed Brad’s sleeve in return.

“What he fuck?” Nate gasped.

“Jerusalem is under attack,” Brad shouted as another loud blast sounded nearby. “We just have to figure out from whom.”

Something struck a nearby building, scattering debris into the street.

“It’s gotta be Jordan,” Nate declared.

“Unless Israel is making its move for the Old City,” Brad replied.

A blast rocked them again and more debris scattered, leaving behind a fire.

“I need to get you to cover,” Brad said, dragging Nate across the street by the sleeve of his uniform.

People were streaming out of the buildings that had been hit. Some were injured. Brad pushed Nate forward as they ran. The next blast landed in the street just behind them, showering them with debris. Nate’s breath was pushed from his chest as he slammed into a wall, Brad’s body crashing into his and holding him pressed there. Pain radiated through Nate’s body, his cheekbone stinging where he’d most likely abraded it.

His ears were ringing. He could just hear the fearful shouts and screams of the people around them. Nate shifted beneath the push of Brad’s body but Brad refused to move.

“We have to get out of here,” Brad said, his breath ghosting over the shell of Nate’s ear. His voice was dull and muffled, almost drowned out by the ringing and the desperate cries around them.

“No,” Nate protested, pushing away from the wall.

Brad backed away just enough for Nate to turn around and press his back to the wall. Around them, people were dashing about. They clutched possessions and children and each other. They were frantic in their running and crying and Nate needed to help them. “Nate, this is artillery fire,” Brad said, lowering his head so Nate was forced to meet his eyes. “Someone is shelling Jerusalem. Whatever deterrent the U.N. presented has failed. I need to get you to safety.”

Somewhere down the street another explosion shook the ground and blew out the few remaining windows in the buildings around them. Brad stepped forward and pushed Nate against the wall again.

Anger and frustration blossomed in Nate’s chest and spiked through his system. He pushed back at Brad’s chest but kept one hand fisted in his vest. “Damn it, Brad. I’m a Marine, too. I’ve been in combat. You don’t need to keep throwing yourself over me. And I can decide for myself when it’s time to retreat.”

“You’re an unarmed observer with valuable knowledge and relationships,” shouted Brad. “Patterson tasked me with your protection for a reason.”

Brad stared hard into Nate’s eyes, looking both determined and pleading.

“The school,” someone shouted, tearing their attentions away from one another. “The school was hit.”

Part of the crowd began moving down the street. Nate tugged Brad’s sleeve as he took off in the direction of the neighborhood’s primary school. He felt Brad following him and was relieved there was no further argument. Nate wouldn’t order Brad to back down, but it was much easier to have an agreeable and cooperative Brad at his six.

When they charged into the debris-riddled school yard, Civil Defense workers were already there, helping to evacuate the school. Desperate parents began to arrive, joyous and relieved when they located their children. There didn’t appear to be any injured children and relief washed over Nate, leaving him feeling weakened.

He grabbed a passing Civil Defense worker. “Where’s the bomb shelter for this area?”

The worker turned and pointed across the street. “The basement of that apartment building there.”

Nate turned to Brad. “We’ll help get the kids to safety and then I’ll RTB.”

Brad’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Nate let him see this was an order and willed him to acquiesce without argument. Finally, Brad nodded his agreement.

The shelter quickly became crowded. A transistor radio was playing the Voice of Thunder. Luckily, water, electricity, and tools had been prepared days earlier. People dragged in mattresses, food and medicine, even as the space filled with near hysterical families.

On Nate’s order, Brad organized the families in one half of the shelter, helping them to stack and store the supplies they had brought. Nate did what he could in the other half, answering questions when he could and struggling to calm and reassure the frightened families.

Air-raid sirens still filled the air. To Nate it sounded as though they were all underwater. When he finally had a moment to come out of the shelter and glance around, he saw the crowd on the street had thinned and the shelling had lightened.

It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. The buildings were all still standing and only a few showed signs of damage. Nate was sure there’d been injuries but bodies weren’t lining the streets. His chest loosened slightly. Brad exited the shelter. He stood tall, surveying the AO.

Coming to stand next to Nate, he said, “I think you’ve done all you can here, sir.”

“Okay,” Nate replied, glancing around once more and slowing his breathing. “Okay, let’s head back to the Jeep.”

As they walked, Nate grabbed up a discarded copy of _Maariv_. It was the second edition of the day, something Nate had never seen. It reported that hundreds of Egyptian airplanes had been destroyed but only a handful of Israeli planes had been lost. He read the information out loud to Brad.

“Do you believe that?” asked Brad.

“Maybe not the exact numbers but the core of the story? Yeah. I believe it.

They reached the Jeep and Brad pulled out the transistor radio. He turned it on just as Kol Israel was broadcasting the destruction of one hundred and twenty Egyptian planes.

Nate climbed into his seat. Brad put the Jeep in gear and drove on silently. Nate appreciated the silence; it gave him a chance to think.

When they reached the U.N. compound, Nate and Brad trailed along in General Bull’s wake as they walked toward Government House. If the set of the General’s shoulders, and clench of Captain Patterson’s jaw, was any indication, they were brooding over events as deeply as Nate.

Godfather met them all as they were crossing through the main section of Government House. “General,” he called, “My observers continue to report on Jordan shelling Jerusalem.”

General Bull asked, “Do we have an update from General Rikhye on the sit-rep in the Sinai?”

A sense of dread washed over Nate as he listened to Godfather tell General Bull of the war raging in the Sinai. He glanced at his watch. 1500 hours. Four hours since the bombing of the primary school. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Maybe the exhaustion was just hunger.

Probably not.

“General Rikhye has confirmed that at 0845 hours this morning, Israel launched an airstrike against Egypt,” Godfather said to General Bull. “The time of the strike was calculated to catch Egypt with its guard down and the maximum number of planes on the ground.”

“Any word on damages sustained on either side?” asked the General.

“No solid numbers. However, General Rikhye believes the majority of the Egyptian air force has been rendered combat ineffective, if not destroyed all together. No word on casualties or if Israel sustained any losses.”

“And General Rikhye’s troops?”

“UNEF has sustained casualties in the Gaza strip when Israeli fighters strafed a column of Indian Peacekeepers,” Godfather said angrily.

General Bull nodded consideringly, his expression thoughtful.

This had only just begun and Nate could see no time in the near future for food or rest. He didn’t want to contemplate how things would be when Syria entered into the mix; possibly even Iraq. Brad’s shoulders hunched slightly and there were bags beneath his eyes. Nate didn’t need the visual clues to remember Brad had been through everything Nate had been, in the last few days, and he’d had the additional burden of having to look after Nate’s safety as well as his own.

“Any chance of a cease-fire?” asked Godfather.

“Israel appears willing,” replied General Bull, “but Jordan is still being bellicose. My hopes in that regard are not high.”

“General Bull, sir!” They all turned, surprised at the desperate tone in Eric Kocher’s voice as he burst into the room. His expression, his posture had a sense of dread squeezing Nate’s stomach like a tight fist. “Sir, armed Jordanian soldiers are breaking through the compound fence,” Eric said, skidding to stop in front of them.

“That’s not possible,” General Bull replied, incredulity thick in his voice. “Are you sure?”

“Affirmative, General, sir,” answered Kocher firmly. “My Marines and I observed this ourselves. My men are establishing a defensive perimeter, along with the other UNEF nations here in the compound, as quickly as possible.”

“Good,” the General replied, striding quickly toward the door.

“Eric,” Brad called, placing a restraining hand on Nate when he moved to follow General Bull, “Get with Gunny Wynn and empty the armory. Distribute the weapons among the Peacekeepers.”

With a sharp nod, Kocher jogged off to follow Brad’s orders. Nate was impressed with Brad’s forward thinking. The last thing they needed was to help arm the Jordanians if they actually managed to overrun the compound.

Nate started toward the exit when Brad pulled him up short again. “Get behind me, Nate. You’re still unarmed.”

Nate clenched his jaw in frustration. He knew Brad was right. If the Jordanians were armed, Brad and his flak vest were the better option to step out front. Then again, General Bull, always refusing assistance beyond his civilian driver, had gone out unarmed.

Brad exited Government House at a run, Nate right on his six. Halfway between the building and the main gate, General Bull stood facing a Jordanian officer. Brad slid to a halt just behind Godfather and Patterson, who both stood at the General’s back. Nate went to stand beside Brad, only to have him hold out a hand to keep Nate behind him.

“I’m General Odd Bull,” Nate heard him say. “Head of the United Nations Treaty Supervision Organization. And you are?”

“Major Daoud,” answered the officer, his English clear if accented.

“Major Daoud, you have just breached a demilitarized area with armed troops and you’ve violated the United Nations compound. Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“I have orders to seize this site,” replied Major Daoud.

“Orders from whom?” Bull demanded. “This is a neutral U.N. facility with zero strategic impact.”

Nate swallowed hard. The General’s words weren’t entirely truthful. The physical location of the compound was a strategic military advantage for Jordan or Israel should either move to attack the other.

The officer’s radio crackled, and the major wasn’t lying. In Arabic, the dispatcher resent the orders to seize the compound. Nate looked at the general and nodded.

“I have orders, General,” the Major repeated.

“Fine,” barked General Bull, “follow me to the garage so I can phone my contacts in your army. Have your men hold their positions.”

“I cannot do that,” Daoud said, pressing his handset to his ear. “I have orders to enter the building.”

“That can’t be possible,” Bull insisted. “UNTSO is neutral. Much of my staff are civilians. All but the Peacekeepers you see here are unarmed.”

“I have my orders, sir,” Daoud insisted.

“Follow me.” General Bull turned on his heel and strode rapidly to the nearby garage.

Nate moved to follow but Brad pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him behind himself. Instead, Nate kept close behind Brad as they all entered the garage.

General Bull was standing beside the desk of the transportation director, speaking sternly into the telephone. Whoever he was trying to reach was apparently unavailable.

Major Daoud acknowledged an order on his radio. “General, I suggest you evacuate your facility. I have orders to enter the main building with my troops.”

Bull slammed the handset into the receiver. “No. Absolutely not. My staff has civilians. Their families are here with them. There are children in the facility. You cannot be here.”

“I have my orders, sir,” Daoud began but the General cut him off.

“Come with me into my office.” Without waiting for a reply, Bull left the garage and crossed the compound. “Someone in your army will straighten this out.”

As they followed Bull and Daoud into Government House, Patterson fell into step beside them. “Staff Sergeant,” he said in a low voice, “if General Bull can’t stop this, you make sure Lieutenant Fick gets clear.”

“Yes, sir,” Brad said in clipped tones.

“Have your Peacekeepers that have been patrolling with my observers get their charges out of here safely. The rest need to make sure all the staff makes it out unharmed.”

“Solid copy, sir,” Brad replied. “What about General Bull?”

“Godfather and I will look after the General.” Patterson jogged ahead and fell into step with Godfather.

“Brad,” Nate started.

“I have my orders, Lieutenant,” Brad cut him off. “You heard your own boss issue me a clear and precise set of orders. You’re not seriously going to tell me to disregard them?”

Nate knew it was futile, even as he searched for a way to nullify the order.

Brad spotted Kocher and waved him over. Eric easily kept pace with their rapid strides.

“Locate Pappy and start planning for a mandatory evacuation of the compound,” he ordered. “Those of us that have been patrolling will get our observers out safely. The rest of you provide security for the remaining staff.”

“Got it,” Kocher said.

“Is the armory cleared?”

“Yes. We’re not heavily armed. Let’s hope the Jordanians don’t open fire.”

Brad dismissed Eric as they reached General Bull’s office.

Again, the General slammed down the phone. It appeared to Nate he couldn’t reach any of his contacts at the Jordanian army.

“Are they avoiding him or are they just unreachable in the chaos?” Brad asked quietly.

“I really don’t know,” Nate answered truthfully.

Shouts reached them down the hallway. Brad and Nate both glanced in the direction of the ruckus and saw several armed Jordanian soldiers.

“General Bull, sir,” Brad said, “there are armed troops inside the building.”

General Bull turned on Major Daoud angrily. “This is utterly ridiculous. We are not a military facility. I don’t care who’s issuing your orders. Get you men and get out of here.”

“I cannot. I have orders__”

“If you don’t take your men and leave this building this moment, I’ll call King Hussein.” Bull picked up the telephone and began to dial. Nate had no doubt the general could and would get through to the King of Jordan but he wondered if the major believed him.

“We will go, sir,” Daoud said. “We will go until my orders can be clarified.”

When the Major turned to leave the office, Nate could see he was rattled. General Bull’s threat had carried weight.

Brad joined up with some of his Marines and together they escorted the Jordanians from the building. At the compound gate, the Major turned to face Brad. “For the time being, we will not occupy the building. However, my men will stay to secure the compound. When I clarify my orders, I’ll return.”

“I won’t hold my breath,” Brad replied, his hand hovering just over his sidearm. “Your men had better have orders to refrain from hostilities. This is a demilitarized zone. We will not tolerate hostile actions.”

Major Daoud regarded Brad for several long moments. He made no acknowledgement of Brad’s words before he turned on his heel and left.

Before they could return to the building, General Bull exited, speaking rapidly to Godfather. Patterson joined Nate.

“What’s the sit-rep, sir?” he asked Patterson.

“All phone lines to the Jordanian government have gone down.”

“Has Israel attacked Jordan?”

“We have no idea. The General phoned the Israeli ministry--”

His next words were lost in the sound of gunfire. They all ducked reflexively and moved closer to the building for cover.

Brad looked around. “Corporal Hasser,” he called. Walt came running to their position. “Any idea what’s going on out here?”

“It seems like the Jordanians are firing into Israeli Jerusalem, Staff Sergeant,” Walt replied. “Want me to get some of the guys and gather and accurate sit-rep?”

“Affirmative.”

With a sharp nod, Walt ducked around shrubbery and ran out into the compound. “Stafford. Christeson. With me.” Nate heard him shout.

“If Jordan is using the compound as a military foothold to strike at Israel, the GOI won’t stand for it,” Patterson said as they again pressed themselves to the building when a fresh round of gunfire filled the air.

“Agreed, sir,” Nate said. “Does General Bull have a plan?”

“He called the Israeli Foreign Ministry and warned them to have the IDF stay clear of here. He’s going now to try to contact someone in command on the Jordanian side of Jerusalem.”

Nate turned to watch General Bull’s car head for the front gate.

“Staff Sergeant,” he heard Godfather say and turned to see him approaching from the direction of the garage. “General Bull wants to start an evacuation …”

An explosion knocked Nate to the ground.

Chaos erupted around him. He heard men shouting. Women were screaming inside Government House. Another explosion struck nearby and debris rained down on him. Nate managed to push up onto his elbows. He shook his head to try to clear it. Where was Brad? Was he okay?

Strong hands were suddenly on him, grabbing everywhere. His ears were ringing again but he thought he heard Brad’s voice shouting his name and urging him to move. Nate was relieved that Brad seemed unharmed.

As Nate pushed to his knees, unable to resist Brad urging him upward, Rudy and Lilley came rushing over. He realized they needed to get to cover, even as Brad was ordering him in through the front door of Government House. Rudy and Lilley helped Patterson and Godfather to their feet and started toward the door.

An explosion hit just overhead. Nate was struck on the shoulder by something hard and heavy. He stumbled. He felt Brad’s strong arm wrap around his chest and haul him to his feet.

“Damn it, Nate,” Brad said, sounding out of breath, “you need to get inside.”

If Nate found cover, Brad would follow and he’d be out of danger, too. Nate focused on the door of Government House and threw himself toward it, willing his legs to carry him that far.

Together, they fell to the floor just inside the door, Brad heavy as his weight came down on top of Nate. Another blast rocked the old, stone building. Brad’s weight shifted and Nate could breathe again.

“Are you wounded?” Brad asked, his hands moving over Nate’s back. “Nate, are you hurt?”

The sharp pain in Nate’s shoulder was quickly becoming a dull throb. He’d have a motherfucker of a bruise but as he rotated the joint, he could tell there was no serious damage.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Goddamn IDF bastards,” Godfather shouted, getting to his feet with help from Lilley. He turned to Brad. “Staff Sergeant, General Bull wanted all non-essential personnel and family members evacuated to a hotel before it became too dangerous.”

“Little late, sir,” Brad said, “but I assume it’s an even more urgent priority now.”

“Affirmative. Godfather thinks your Marines have been doing an outstanding job of looking after his observers. Can they see to the safety of the families now?”

“They can, sir,” Brad said, turning to Rudy. “Sergeant Reyes, get with Sergeants Kocher and Patrick. Round up non-essentials and all family members. Have them take only a few days’ worth of possessions and get them settled into a hotel in Jerusalem. Report back to me when everyone is secured.”

“Yes, sir, Sergeant Colbert,” Rudy replied, gesturing for Lilley to follow him.

Nate glanced at his watch. It was nearly 1600 hours.

General Bull and his driver suddenly rushed into the building.

“General, sir,” Godfather said, approaching him.

“It’s too dangerous to travel through this. I’ll have to deal with the GOI from here,” Bull said.

“The UNEF Marines are seeing to the evacuation, sir,” Godfather informed him.

Rudy burst back through the solid wooden doors of Government House. “The IDF is here, sirs, they’re armed and they’re firing.”

“Bar the door,” Patterson ordered Rudy, who complied. “I suggest everyone retreat to the back offices.”

Godfather and Patterson both began to shout orders to any staff still inside the building. Gunfire raged outside. The building was rocked again with another blast of artillery.

Nate began to help people to their feet. They were the only military in the vicinity; everyone around them was a very frightened civilian. Brad followed suit, bending to assist women and young men up off the floor.

Patterson led the way to the very back offices of Government House. Brad and Nate brought up the rear of the procession, trying to be reassuring and calm. It wasn’t easy, each time they were struck with an artillery blast and covered once more in plaster and brick dust.

The gunfire was right outside the wooden front doors. They opened with a blast and a resulting loud crash. The gunfire was now inside the building. There was shouting, Nate couldn’t tell if it was Arabic or Hebrew. He thought he heard someone shout, “U-N, U-N”

“Everyone get down,” General Bull said. “Now. Get down. Show no resistance.” Nate hesitated and he felt Brad stiffen beside him. Lying down, passively surrendering went against Nate’s nature and his training. He imagined something similar was running through Brad’s mind.

Slowly, reluctantly, Nate lay down on his stomach. There were a series of small but loud concussive explosions. They seemed to be getting closer. General stepped around them all and hurried down the corridor.

Nate heard Godfather mutter, “He says he’s going to go have words with the IDF.”

Small explosions grew closer to them. “Those are grenades,” Brad said for everyone to hear. He was next to Nate, pressed close to his side.

An IDF solder appeared at the end of the corridor. He glanced at them all, gathered on the floor at the end of the hallway. He kicked in a door, tossed a grenade inside, firing his weapon into the room as well.

“Shit,” Brad growled, suddenly laying himself over Nate’s body.

Nate protested, but Brad held him steady. He could hear Brad breathing heavily in his ear; feel the hard ridge of his helmet press into his skull. That’s when he realized what Brad was doing. Since hostilities had begun, Brad hadn’t been removing his helmet indoors. He was trying to provide Nate’s unprotected skull with some sort of cover against bullets and shrapnel.

Nate’s heart slammed in his chest. Brad’s vest and helmet would only afford him so much protection and kept using his body as a shield for Nate. He was more afraid for Brad than he was for himself.

The IDF soldier moved down the corridor, tossing grenades into rooms as he went. When he reached their group, lying prone on the floor, he carefully stepped around them.

“It’s time to evacuate,” General Bull shouted, reappearing at the far end of the hallway, an IDF colonel in his wake. They caught up to the soldier with the grenades. Nate’s heart leapt to his throat at the sound of screams inside the room the soldier was ready to throw his latest grenade into.

The IDF colonel stopped the soldier, shouting at him in Hebrew that it was shameful to target unarmed civilians in such a manner. Had the man no honor? Brad stood and helped Nate to his feet. Together they helped others up as well. General Bull stepped into the room at the end of the hall and ordered the occupants out of the building. As they passed, Nate counted thirty civilian men and women.

Brad called to them all as they passed, “Don’t waste time gathering possessions; just get what you’ll need for a few days. Take all the vehicles to the President Hotel. You all know where that is?”

Enough of them did that the General seemed sure they could all make it there. With an impatient gesture, he reiterated his order for a full evacuation of the U.N. compound.

Stepping over the shattered door and into the sunshine, Nate saw the visual evidence of the fighting he’d heard earlier. The manicured gardens were torn up and trampled. Vehicles not inside the garage were burning. Smoke and debris were everywhere.

“They burned down my house!” Nate spun at the sound of General Bull’s angry voice. He spotted him, gesturing wildly at the small manor house closest to Government House. It was a smoldering ruin.

Inside the garage, Brad located a Jeep and a set of keys. The civilian U.N. workers were clustered together in groups, scattered through the compound. They were frightened but trying to gather strength and comfort from each other. Captain Patterson assigned them to vehicles and drivers, trying not to split up families. Nate readily agreed to seat two young women, secretaries he’d dealt with on occasion, in the back of their Jeep.

Brad drove quickly across the compound. Following the instructions of the women in the rear seat, he pulled up in front of a cluster of small houses where they were billeted. “You have two minutes to get a change of clothes and any valuables. More than two minutes and more than one bag and we’re leaving you behind.”

The women clambered out of the Jeep, readily agreeing to Brad’s terms.

When they were inside the house, Nate turned to Brad. “You wouldn’t really leave them behind, would you?”

Brad’s expression was filled with humor. “No, but don’t tell them that. It’ll ensure they cooperate.”

Armed IDF troops rushed around them, darting between buildings. One stopped and shouted at them in Hebrew to get out of the compound immediately. Nate shouted back that they were getting women to safety and demanded the soldier be patient.

The women emerged from the house and tossed one small bag each into the back of the Jeep. They climbed into the backseat. Brad put the Jeep in gear and aimed for the soldier. Nate couldn’t help but smile when he leapt out of the way with a surprised yelp.

Brad stopped the Jeep in front of his own hooch. “I won’t be long. I’ve got an emergency bag already packed.”

Nate wished he’d thought of that. He was at least grateful that he’d kept his toiletries and a few paperbacks in his one travel bag. He’d only have to toss in some skivvies and a uniform. With a sudden thought, Nate climbed out of the Jeep.

“Nate, stay in the Jeep,” Brad called form the porch of his billet.

“Come pick me up when you have your bag. It’ll go faster.”

Without waiting for his reply, Nate ran the short distance to his own hooch. The house was a mess. He had no idea if Dave had done it in his haste to pack and leave, or if the IDF had gone through the house.

Nate’s room was untouched; it must have been Dave.

He tossed a clean uniform into his bag, along with several pairs of socks and skivvies. He zipped it shut, tossed it over his shoulder and slammed out of the front door. He was halfway back to Brad’s billet when he saw the Jeep approaching. Brad barely had to slow for Nate to yank open the door, toss his bag into the foot-well and climb into his seat.

They sailed through the front gate of the compound at full speed, the gate arm had already been shattered.

Patterson was in the lobby of the President Hotel when they arrived. He was coordinating everyone’s accommodations. Godfather and General Bull were nowhere to be seen.

“Can I be of assistance, sir?” Nate asked.

“Lieutenant, Staff Sergeant,” Patterson said with a relieved smile, “I’m very glad to see you both made it.”

“You as well, sir. What can we do?”

“This hotel is filling up quickly. I’ve secured rooms for myself and my family, Godfather and his wife, and General Bull’s family. I want the UNTSO observers and as many of the UNEF troops as possibly to stay here. Civilians should be routed to one of the several nearby hotels.”

“I can help route everyone, sir,” Nate offered.

“I appreciate that, Nate. We have to conserve space. Entire families in one room. Singles are going to have to share. I assume it’s not a problem for you and Staff Sergeant Colbert to share.”

Nate’s already racing heart began to beat even faster. He schooled his features, knowing the thrill that ran up his spine was inappropriate so he ignored it. He didn’t dare look over at Brad.

“No problem, sir,” he said, feigning a calm he didn’t feel at all.

“Good. Let’s start getting everyone settled.”

Nate turned to begin addressing the gathering U.N. staff. Suddenly, Brad was right _there_. He leaned in and spoke softly.

“I’ll go pick up the keys and secure our room, Lieutenant,” he said, “Would you like me to take your bag up?”

Brad’s voice was even, his expression smooth. Still, something about the look in his eyes, the way they glanced over Nate’s face, heated Nate’s blood.

“Yes, thank you, Staff Sergeant,” replied Nate, letting Brad take the bag from his numb fingers.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Brad was gone and Nate was faced with a restless group of frightened U.N. employees in need of rooms for the night.

“Excuse me, Captain Patterson?” Nate turned at the unexpectedly assertive tone of a female voice with an Australian accent. He found one of the young women he and Brad had brought with them trying to get the Captain’s attention.

Patterson looked at her, puzzled. “I know, you need somewhere to stay …”

“No,” she said replied sharply, then took a deep breath. “Yes, but that’s not my immediate concern. You need some administrative help with what you’re trying to do.”

Patterson’s brow was still furrowed in confusion. “Go on.”

“I know you only want military staff to stay in this hotel but when the dust settles, you’ll realize you need someone close by to make phone calls, photocopies, take notes, run errands, type letters, handle the hotel bills. In short, sir, you’re going to need a secretary.”

Nate had to admit she had a valid point. Patterson must have agreed. “Are you volunteering, Miss?”

“I am,” she replied quickly, gesturing over her shoulder toward her friend. “I’m Rachel, my friend is Anna. We were billeted together so we’d have no trouble sharing one room in this hotel. Right now, though, you need our help to keep track of where your staff is being scattered to. Are you even sure everyone made it out of the compound alive?”

Patterson ran a hand over his forehead in frustration. Nate had been worried about that himself, wondering how they were going to sort it all out.

Rachel held up a finger, requesting a moment of patience. She crossed the hotel lobby and, with a mixture of charm and a bossy attitude, bullied the concierge into locating two clipboards, a thick stack of blank paper and several pens.

Together, Rachel and Anna recorded the names of the staff and family members accounted for and staying at the Presidential. Next, they had Patterson tell them who he had already sent on to other hotels.

“Okay,” Rachel said with an air of satisfaction, “you and Lieutenant Fick direct everyone to where you need them to be. Anna and I will record the names and where they’re going to stay. We’ll try to reconcile it with a full roster when we’re done. I’m sure I can get one from New York eventually.”

It took hours. The U.N. staff had fled the compound and scattered. Through luck and word of mouth, they were finding their way to the Presidential and slowly, accommodations were being sorted out.

From time to time, Rachel would grab a passing hotel employee and cajole them into bringing whatever it was she thought Nate needed at that moment. He was so occupied with his task he didn’t give her much thought until she pressed two aspirin and a cool glass of water into his hand. Again. Nate realized he’d been rolling his shoulder against the ache that was growing steadily worse.

At some point, Brad appeared and slipped him a room key which Nate pocketed, pushing thoughts of the coming night to the back of his mind. He didn’t miss the way Rachel smiled up at Brad when he handed her the room key he’d obtained at Nate’s instruction, on her and Anna’s behalf.

Nate finally thought they might have things under control when General Bull returned, Godfather in tow. He could tell the General was still seething.

“They didn’t listen to a word I said,” he told Patterson. “They aren’t going to let us back in, anytime soon. They’ve got a strategic advantage. And now we’re cut off from New York.”

Patterson explained how Rachel and Anna were going to try to help with that, and gave him the sit-rep on accommodations for the night.

“Do we yet know if everyone made it out?” Bull asked.

Rachel indicated the sheets of paper containing the names and status of everyone who had made it to the hotel. “No one has reported to us that someone they know is completely unaccounted for. We had one serious casualty, a new Australian observer, a Major, was shot in the leg when the IDF overran the building. He drove himself to safety, though, so the wound is minor.”

“Good work, everyone,” the General said, glancing around. “Now, go get settled, get yourselves fed. I’ll contact those of you I need, when I need you. Try to get some rest. I think we’re all aware that this is just the beginning.”

“Do we have any idea yet what the hell is really going on?” Patterson asked.

“It’s still shaking out but it looks like Egypt did _not_ strike first. And since Israel violated the neutral ground of a U.N. compound, I think we all know what their next move is going to be.”

“The Old City,” Nate said, dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

“Yes, Lieutenant. Without question. Now, everyone go get yourselves taken care of.”

Brad slowly approached, his eyes roaming over Nate’s body. “You need to eat.”

Nate took a deep breath and tried to stretch his sore shoulder. The latest dose of aspirin was wearing off. He was exhausted and wanted to sleep. He wanted some quiet time alone to digest what had happened that day, and to contemplate what they were all facing in the days to come.

“Lieutenant?” Rachel was suddenly at Nate’s elbow. “Would you and Staff Sergeant Colbert please have supper with us?”

Just behind Rachel, Anna stood, not quite looking at Nate, a shy smile on her lips and a blush high on her cheeks.

Oh hell.

“That would be very nice, ladies, thank you,” Nate said, glancing at Brad and willing him to understand why they had to say yes.

“While I think it would be a very pleasant evening,” Brad said carefully, “the Lieutenant has been shot at, caught in artillery fire, struck with falling debris, and had to ride in a Jeep with me, from one end of Jerusalem to the other. Twice. I have to wonder if a shower and sleep aren’t what he needs most.”

“Oh,” Rachel’s eyes widened and she looked aghast, “oh, of course.We understand. We thought, since you both probably need to eat, we wanted you to join us so that might properly thank you for helping us today. You might have been through something similar, being in the military, but Anna and I were frightened.”

“I don’t blame you,” Nate said, smiling. “And I appreciate your concern, Sergeant Colbert, but Rachel is right, I need to eat. If I can have a few minutes to go up to my room and clean up a little, there’s no reason we shouldn’t share a meal after what we’ve been through together.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Rachel said, nodding her head vigorously. “Anna and I should go up and see to our own room. Thank you, by the way, Staff Sergeant, for taking our things up.”

Brad inclined his head graciously.

“Shall we meet in the hotel restaurant in thirty minutes, then?” Nate asked. “It may take awhile to get a table. I think we’ve overwhelmed them.”

“Yes, that would be fine,” replied Rachel. “And before I go up, I’m going to have a chat with the hotel manager to make sure he’s calling in extra staff and ensuring they’re going to be able to accommodate us for the next several days.”

Nate was impressed with her forethought.

Parting ways for the time being, Brad led Nate up to the room they would share for the foreseeable future. It was small and looked comfortable, if not luxurious. It contained two queen sized beds. Nate’s bag sat on the foot of one bed, Brad’s bag on the foot of the other.

“Am I to assume we’re having dinner with the ladies as camouflage?” Brad asked.

“Yes,” Nate said, collapsing next to his bag with a heavy sigh. “Ethics and the Code of Conduct make a plausible excuse as to why it will never be more than dinner. But you and I both know that two straight Marines would welcome the opportunity to share a meal and flirt with two attractive young women. Especially after the day we’ve all had.”

Brad sat down next to him and Nate luxuriated in the feel of his body heat crossing the miniscule distance between them. Brad shifted and they touched at a few points along their bodies; thighs, elbows, shoulders.

“Do you do this often?” Brad asked quietly.

“Don’t you?” Nate countered, turning to look at him closely, to gauge his reaction.

“More often than I’d like,” Brad replied, staring hard into Nate’s eyes. “I just wanted to clarify which one of us you were misdirecting.”

Nate frowned. He wasn’t pleased with the dishonesty of his own actions, but what choice did he have? It surprised him that Brad might not understand; might actually be hurt by the necessary deception.

“As you said,” he sighed. “They’re simply camouflage.” They fell silent and Nate held Brad’s gaze steadily, refusing to be the first to look away. The silence was broken by the distant blast of artillery, reminding Nate that Jerusalem was still a war zone.

Something behind Brad’s eyes eased a little. “Why don’t you shower and I’ll get that uniform as clean as I can under the circumstances.”

Nate gave him a small, relieved smile.

The hot water felt good. Nate wanted to linger but thirty minutes wasn’t long at all. He pulled on his last clean uniform and laced up his boots. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Brad had the uniform he’d worn that day looking slightly less worse-for-wear and hanging from the curtain rod along with his own.

“You don’t have to worry about this dinner going on all night,” Nate said, running a hand over his quickly drying hair. “I’m going to struggle not to fall asleep during the entrée.”

Brad smiled. “Come on, let’s get you fed.”

It turned out finding a table wasn’t a problem. A large number of observers and peacekeepers had pushed several tables together in what appeared to be an impromptu U.N. staff party.

“Come join the refugees,” Eckloff called, waving Nate and Brad over.

Rachel and Anna were already seated across the table from each other, an empty chair beside each of them.

“Lieutenant Fick,” Rachel said, gesturing toward the chair next to Anna. “And Sergeant Colbert.” She indicated the chair beside herself. “We saved you each a seat.”

“I think we can drop the formalities for the duration of the evening,” Nate said. “Please call me Nate. Staff Sergeant Colbert’s name is Brad.”

“Nice raspberry on your face there, sir,” Ray called from across the table. “Iceman falling down on protection duty?”

Nate skimmed his fingers over the small patch of raw and bruised flesh. “Actually, I got this as a result of Brad’s very effective protection skills. Given the choice of being struck by an artillery blast or being slammed into a wall, I’ll take the wall.”

The table erupted into laughter.

“Did you encounter a lot of trouble out there, Nate?” asked Captain Whitmer.

“Not directly,” Nate answered. “We were nearby when a school was shelled so we helped with the evac. No casualties. I think the peacekeepers in Egypt fared the worst.”

“Seems like the Egyptian air force might have gotten the worse of it,” said Gunny Wynn. “They were caught with their pants down on Israel’s first attack. Then what didn’t get blown to hell in the first wave got destroyed during the second wave.”

“There were two waves?” This was the first Nate had heard of this.

“The second hit at 1100 hours,” replied Mike.

“Are there final numbers on all the losses?” Brad asked.

Poke answered up, “We were with Captain Patterson when he got an initial damage assessment. Egypt lost 309 of 340 serviceable airplanes, including thirty long-range bombers. Of their 350 pilots, 100 were lost, most of those while still on the ground. Virtually all Egyptian airfields are completely destroyed.”

Nate whistled in amazement.

“Jordan and Syria made abortive attempts to launch strikes on Israel,” Ecklof added. “Israel made quick work of them, too. There’s only one functioning air force in the Middle East now.”

“And it belongs to Israel,” concluded Brad.

“Anybody know the state of things here in Jerusalem?” Nate asked.

“Yeah,” Kocker glanced around the table, “how long before we can return to the U.N. compound?”

“Israel holds the compound and therefore the high ground in Jerusalem,” replied Whitmer. “They’re not going to relinquish that until after they’ve secured the Old City. If then.”

“The British built Government House where they did for a reason,” remarked Nate. “They held the high ground in Palestine.” He suddenly became aware of a conversation beside him.

Glancing over, Nate found Anna in consultation with a waiter. He turned back to the occupants of the table. “Gentlemen, we’re being rude. We have ladies at the table. Let’s try to refrain from talking shop, shall we?”

Rachel was looking around the room expectantly. As two more waiters appeared, her concerned expression smoothed. Nate assumed she’d successfully arranged for additional staff to accommodate them.

He looked across the table and found Brad watching him, expression inscrutable. Nate sighed and glanced away.

It was going to be a long meal.

~*~

Nate was unbuttoning his uniform before Brad even had the hotel room door closed. He stripped to his skivvies - olive drab just like everything else in his wardrobe, it seemed – and folded everything carefully, ready for him to put them back on in the morning.

He was vaguely aware of Brad doing the same thing. As curious as he was, as desirous as he was, to see Brad out of his uniform, Nate found he couldn’t look. He’d spent the evening hoping and anticipating what would happen once they were alone but now that they were here, he realized he had no idea what to expect. He wasn’t sure what Brad expected; what he wanted. Nate had offered to get on his hands and knees for Brad, but was that what he really wanted?

Nate moved his bag to the floor beside the bed and reached for the bedclothes. He tugged them down and realized he had nothing else to do that would stall for time. He drew breath to speak, screwed up his courage and turned to face Brad.

Whatever Nate was going to say was lost at the feel of Brad’s hands grasping his face; Brad’s lips pressing hotly to his own. Nate steadied himself against the unexpected assault by fisting his hands in Brad’s undershirt.

Brad shifted one hand to the small of Nate’s back and used it to press their lower bodies together. Nate’s already growing erection surged at the contact with Brad’s hip. Brad’s tongue swiped along Nate’s lower lip then pressed inward, demanding Nate let him in. Wrapping his arms around Brad’s chest, Nate opened to him, eagerly.

Their gasping, panting, desperate breathing was loud in the quiet room. Nate moaned at the feel of Brad’s tongue against his own. Brad’s body was lean and hard where it pressed against Nate. He ran his hands over Brad’s back, feeling the bunch and shift of his muscles. With each deep, shuddering inhalation, Nate could smell Brad; he was surprisingly clean and strongly masculine. Nate pressed his hips hard against Brad, feeling the blood rush into his cock, bringing it to full and aching hardness.

Brad broke the kiss, his breath flowing hot and heavy over Nate’s wet mouth. Nate made a needy and disappointed sound but he was too desperate to be embarrassed as he tried to follow Brad’s lips and recapture them.

“Fuck, you scared me today,” Brad breathed against him, the hand still cradling Nate’s head gripped him tightly. “When that brick fell on you …”

“You were right there with me,” Nate said, kissing his way down Brad’s throat. “The bullets were flying around you. Arti was landing right by us both and you kept putting yourself in the line of fire.I wanted to throttle you for risking yourself like that.”

“Shut up, Nate,” Brad said, dragging him back into a searing kiss. “Just let me feel you.”

Nate’s reply was lost in Brad’s mouth as it found its way back to his own. He groaned and clutched at Brad’s back when he felt Brad’s long fingers slide into the front of his boxers. Nate had no self-control, flexing his hips and pushing his cock into Brad’s fist.

He ran his hands the length of Brad’s back. Watching himself slide in and out of Brad’s fist was fucking fantastic. It felt better than anything he’d ever felt before. He needed something more, though. This was good but it wasn’t enough. Nate felt hot and itchy and restless.

Brad’s shirt rode up and Nate’s hand connected with smooth, warm skin and suddenly he knew what he needed. He yanked Brad’s undershirt up and was thwarted by his arms. They were getting tangled up in each other and Nate was frustrated.

“Skin,” he whispered into Brad’s mouth. “I wanna feel you.”

Brad lifted his arms and Nate tore the shirt up and off. He tossed the cloth across the room and had to raise his arms again as his own shirt was tugged off by Brad’s impatient hands.

Nate skimmed his hands over Brad’s arms, feeling the restrained strength in the muscle beneath the skin. Brad pulled him close with an arm around his waist and smoothed his other palm across Nate’s chest, then down his belly.

“We should have done this sooner,” Brad said, voice low and rough. “Fuck,” he whispered.

Nate had a mere moment to wonder if Brad meant the baring of skin or just this in general. He sucked a startled breath in through clenched teeth when Brad started to slowly sink to his knees. Nate felt awkward as he stepped out of his boxers when Brad pulled them down to his feet. He looked down at himself and wondered how Brad saw him; cock standing out straight, hard and red and _needy_.

That worry disappeared into the ether when Brad took Nate’s erection into his mouth. Nate gasped; his hands going to Brad’s shoulders, gripping tight enough Nate knew it had to hurt a little. He clenched his jaw and struggled not to shove his hips forward. The effort, along with the hot, wet suction of Brad’s mouth weakened his knees.

Brad’s hands found Nate’s hips in a bruising grip and guided him to sit on the edge of the bed. Nate had no idea what to do with his hands as he watched Brad’s blond head sliding up and down over his cock. He wanted to smooth them over his hair, run them down his back, cradle his face and feel him as he sucked on Nate’s dick. But would Brad want that?

Brad hummed around Nate’s erection and the feel of it rolled through him, shooting straight up his spine. Nate fell back onto his elbows, helpless to do anything but watch Brad suck on him enthusiastically. He looked down the length of his body, admiring the stretch of Brad’s lips around Nate’s swollen cock. Brad looked up at him, blue eyes blown wide and bright and suddenly, Nate couldn’t breathe.

The feel of Brad’s warm fingers cradling his ball sac made Nate restless. He lifted one foot to the edge of mattress, levering the upward motion of his hips. He opened himself wider to Brad and didn’t really understand why.

When Brad’s finger brushed lightly over Nate’s hole, he gasped and pressed himself toward the teasing digit. It was suddenly clear.

Brad pulled off of his cock and looked up at him, hesitance clear in his expression. “Would you … do you …” he seemed unsure and Nate was stunned.

One of them had to ask the other. If Brad didn’t want the same thing, fuck it. They’d sort this out somehow.

“I want you to fuck me,” Nate said, heart in his throat as he searched Brad’s eyes. “Do you do that?”

Brad surged up between Nate’s open thighs. He grasped Nate behind the head and brought their mouths together again, tongue sweeping in and licking deep into Nate. He pressed his hard cock, still trapped in his boxers, against Nate’s own. He supposed he had Brad’s answer.

Falling back onto the bed, Nate pulled Brad down on top of him, rejoicing in the feel of his heat and his weight. He reached down and pushed at Brad’s boxers, sliding them over his hips and reaching for Brad’s erection as it sprang free.

Brad hissed into his mouth. “How do we do this?” he asked, burying his face in Nate’s throat.

Shit. Nate’s mind raced over the options. Then he remembered what he usually kept stored in his bag.

Pushing at Brad’s shoulders, Nate struggled to sit up. “My bag. Where’s my bag.”

“Where you left it,” Brad said, lunging toward the foot of the bed and dragging Nate’s bag onto the mattress.

With trembling fingers, Nate struggled with the zipper until he got the bag open. He rummaged around until his fingers wrapped around the square plastic tub. He pulled it out and shoved the bag off the bed and back onto the floor. Nate showed the tub of Vaseline to Brad then began to scramble up toward the head of the bed.

“Do I really want to know what you have that for?” Brad asked, crawling after Nate, giving him a wicked smile.

“Dry skin, mostly,” Nate grinned back at him. “We’re in a fucking desert.”

“Mostly,” Brad said, kissing his way up Nate’s belly.

Nate pried the lid from the tub and tossed it away. He used two fingers to scoop out a portion of the jelly. He watched Brad watch his hand in fascination as Nate reached between his own legs and began to press a single finger up into his body. Brad’s eyes widened fractionally as he watched Nate slide his finger in and out, twisting slightly to spread the jelly inside himself. Nate pushed two fingers inside and Brad groaned.

“That’s so fucking hot,” he breathed. Brad dipped a finger into the tub of jelly and reached down to join Nate’s hand.

When Brad slid his finger in to join Nate’s two that were already inside, Nate hissed and arched against the exquisite burn and stretch.

“Too much?” Brad asked, voice strained. He stopped moving.

“No,” Nate moaned, using his own fingers to encourage Brad to keep moving.

Together, their fingers slid in and out of Nate’s hole. He tightened himself around their fingers, enjoying the extra pressure it created.

“Christ, I can’t wait to feel you do that around my cock,” Brad said, awe suffusing his voice.

“Neither can I,” Nate said. “We’re almost there.” He slid his fingers free and Brad followed suit. Scooping out more of the slick stuff, Nate spread it generously over Brad’s erection.

Brad closed his eyes and hissed sharply. “Don’t take too long doing that,” he said, sounding strangled.

Nate tossed the tub of jelly aside and slowly, carefully, turned over onto his hands and knees. He bowed his back when he felt Brad’s hands skimming over the skin of his back. He felt Brad’s warm lips press several times against the tender skin of his shoulder. It was sore to the touch and Nate knew he had the beginnings of an ugly bruise, but Brad kissing the wound filled Nate with a warm sense of intimacy.

“My jerk-off fantasies didn’t do you justice,” Brad murmured and Nate couldn’t help but chuckle. “Tell me if I hurt you,” Brad said as he started to push himself into Nate’s body.

Nate exhaled and relaxed as Brad’s cock breached him. The Vaseline did its job and Brad slid in slow and slick. Brad gripped one of his shoulders with a strong hand. Nate spread his knees a little wider and braced himself.

Brad’s thrusts were strong. Nate felt impaled and nearly split open with each forward motion of Brad’s hips. He could smell their mingled sweat and hear the lewd slap of their skin each time Brad’s thighs met the skin of Nate’s ass.

He let his head drop between his shoulders and let Brad take him for the ride. Nate clenched the sheet beneath him in both fists. He matched Brad’s rhythm, rocking himself backward to meet each of Brad’s thrusts. Nate grunted through his gritted teeth each time Brad’s cock bottomed out in his ass. He took a deep breath and tightened his muscles, clamping down hard on Brad’s impaling erection.

“Fuck,” Brad hissed, his hips going still with his cock buried deep inside of Nate.

Nate felt Brad bend over him, pressing his forehead to Nate’s back. “Are you close?” Nate asked, nearly desperate. He wanted to feel Brad come inside of him. He wanted to feel his cock twitch and pulse; he wanted to feel Brad’s hot come shoot up inside of him.

“Yeah,” Brad gasped. “Where is that shit?” he muttered. Nate felt him searching the bed frantically.

In the next moment, Nate’s cock was enveloped in Brad’s large, jelly-slicked hand. His arms gave out and he pressed his face to the sheet. Brad pushed in and out of him slowly as his hand jacked Nate frantically.

The dual assault was maddening and Nate’s climax slammed into him with a suddenness that stole his breath and his coordination. He shuddered uncontrollably, rocking back against Brad and swearing loudly. Brad stroked him through it, fast and steady, until Nate hissed in sudden sensitivity.

“Fuck,” Brad growled, grabbed Nate’s hips painfully, and began to slam his cock in and out as if possessed. Finally, Nate felt him sink himself deep and go still.

Brad came in near silence. He shuddered with a violence that rocked the bed frame and vibrated through Nate. Keeping himself clenched tight around Brad’s cock, Nate closed his eyes and focused on the feel of Brad’s hot come flooding him, filling him, and leaving him feeling smugly satisfied.

Slowly, Brad pulled out and Nate hissed at the feel of it. He let himself slide down onto the bed, his muscles warm and weak. Brad settled down beside him, their heavy breathing syncing up almost immediately.

“We have to do that again,” Brad said breathlessly.

“Now?” Nate asked, incredulous.

“Well, no,” Brad admitted. “I think we both need some sleep first.”

“Long day tomorrow,” Nate said, reluctant to let reality intrude quite so soon.

“I have the feeling it’s going to be a long couple of years,” Brad’s tone was dark.

“Yeah,” Nate agreed, sliding into sleep. “Let’s worry about it again tomorrow, okay?.”

“Yeah,” said Brad, and the last thing Nate felt before sleep won was Brad’s lips brushing his forehead.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Tuesday, 6 June, 1967 _ **

**_The City of Jerusalem  
0230 hours_ **

  
Nate was torn from sleep by several loud explosions and bright blasts that illuminated the room. The window shuddered and the entire building vibrated with the force of whatever was happening. Nothing was familiar; he was not in his own bed. It took several long moments before he remembered where he was supposed to be. Clicking on the bedside lamp, Nate glanced at his watch; 0230 hours. 

He tried to remember what time he’d hit the rack so he could calculate how much sleep he’d managed to get. That’s when the memories came flooding back in a warm rush. Nate was suddenly very aware of the many aches throughout his body, most of them delicious.

That’s when he realized Brad was in the second bed, blinking against the sudden brightness of the light. Disappointment surged through Nate strong enough to steal his breath. Brad hadn’t wanted to sleep through the night in the same bed.

“That’s arti.” Brad’s voice was rough from fatigue and disuse.

“Yeah, but whose?” Nate threw back the covers and stumbled to the window to retrieve his uniform.

He heard the rustling of bedclothes behind him and he imagined Brad was getting up. Another round of artillery fire lit the night sky and rattled the hotel. Nate startled when he felt Brad’s warm, rough hands land on his shoulders and slide down the length of his back.

In spite of himself, Nate leaned back into Brad’s firm body.

“You okay?” Brad asked softly, his lips pressed to the side of Nate’ neck.

“Yeah, of course,” answered Nate, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face as memories once against flashed through his mind.

“You were sleeping like the dead when I switched beds.” Brad reached for his own uniform and together they began to dress.

“You don’t sleep well with another person in bed with you?” Nate hoped his tone sounded casual and curious.

Brad stopped in pulling his trousers up over his hips. He gave Nate a long, hard look. “Seriously, Nate? Think about it. If someone had woke us up pounding on the door because Jerusalem was being overrun, how would it have looked if only one bed was messed up? And you know Housekeeping would gossip about the two American Marines sharing a room but only one bed.”

Shit. Brad was right. For all they finally had some time alone, they didn’t really have a great deal of true privacy.

“You’re right,” Nate said hastily, tugging on his uniform blouse. “Of course you’re right.”

He was glancing around, trying to figure out where he’d left his boots, when Brad’s hands on his shoulders stilled him. Nate looked up into intense blue eyes. Brad lowered his head and pressed their mouths together. Nate shut his eyes and lost himself in the feel of it. Pulling back, Brad pressed their foreheads together and they stood like that for several long moments.

“It’s going to be another hell of a day,” Brad murmured.

A loud pounding on the door made them jump apart guiltily. That angered Nate; that they had to feel that way, that they’d been interrupted by an insistent world.

Crossing to the door, Nate spotted his boots and grabbed them as he passed. Opening the door, he found Mike Wynn standing in the hall.

“Obviously, I didn’t wake you,” Mike said. “Good. Patterson needs you. I assume you were getting dressed to head that way?”

Nate held his boots aloft. “Give us a couple of minutes. Where does he want us?”

“I’ll let him know you’re on your way. Everyone’s meeting in the suite,” Mike answered even as he turned back toward the elevator.

Nate shut the door and sat on the bed to slide on his boots. Brad came out of the bathroom, smelling vaguely of toothpaste. Nate ran his tongue over his teeth and wondered if each one was wearing a fur coat. He also realized he desperately needed to piss.

Less than five minutes later, he was knocking on the door to Captain Patterson’s room. It shared a living space and kitchenette with the room Godfather occupied. As Patterson lead them through to the sitting area, Nate noted that more work than sleep had happened in these rooms in the last hours.

“Because we lost radios when we lost Government House,” he was explaining, “we don’t have a clear idea of what’s going on. The observers who are out there right now are doing their best to report in but it’s tough.”

Mike was already there and waiting. Godfather was on the telephone and nodded briskly in acknowledgment when Nate and Brad entered.

“Who’s responsible for the arti?” Nate asked.

“We think it’s the IDF,” answered Patterson. “They’ve been observed moving in as if preparing to secure Mount Scopus. We think they’re taking the Lotrun Road and Ammunition Hill.”

“That’s no surprise, is it?” Nate asked.

“Surprise? No. The amount of bloodshed that will result depends on how much of fight Jordan puts up.”

“Mount Scopus is another foothold toward taking the Old City, isn’t it?” Brad asked.

“It is,” replied Patterson. “What we don’t know is if Jordan will defend Mount Scopus or fall back and concentrate on holding the Old City.”

“So, do you need us out there?” Nate asked.

“No. I’ve got plenty of men to keep an eye on the city. You and I are going to try to broker a ceasefire.”

“Between?”

“Everyone.”

Nate paused to consider the enormity of the task. “Do we even have a chance of succeeding?”

Patterson sighed. “Israel has the upper hand; they’re going to put up the most resistance. I don’t hold out much hope, but we have to try.”

Godfather hung up the phone. “General Bull has advised me that he and I will be working out of the U.S. Embassy. We have to re-establish contact with New York so we can act on any resolutions the Security Council enacts today.”

“I think the Council has a greater chance of ending hostilities than we do,” Nate said.

“If any of them can agree on the terms of the proposal,” Patterson replied. “It’s going to come down to whether or not Israel will be forced to give back any land it grabs before this is all over.”

“They won’t give any at all back until Egypt is forced to unblock the Straits,” Nate stated emphatically.

“The fact that you realize that is exactly why I need you with me today,” said Patterson, with a smile. “Gunny Wynn will drive me to the Knesset building. You two follow us over.”

Brad had kept the key to the Jeep they’d used to flee the compound the day before. Nate climbed into the passenger seat. Brad drove slowly and carefully. It was still fully dark, for all the night sky was frequently lit by ordinance explosions. Troops were moving through the streets, packed into the backs of trucks. Tanks drove through streets in single columns, lumbering along menacingly.

Nate glanced down into a vehicle as it passed them going the opposite direction. He was stunned to see the car packed full of wounded soldiers.

“Jesus,” he said loudly, looking around to catch sight of another vehicle to see if it held the same.

“What’s wrong?” Brad asked, glancing over.

“They’re using civilian cars to transport the wounded,” he answered.

“Are there a lot of wounded?” Brad asked, looking around at passing cars.

“Yes, there are.”

Brad made a slow, careful turn north bound onto Salah al-Din Street and all hell broke loose. Artillery fire landed within several yards of the Jeep. Multiple blasts hit, one right after the other. The vehicle was showered with dirt and debris. Nate feared the windscreen wouldn’t hold. Brad was forced to swerve the Jeep violently to avoid a Jordanian Patton tank.

No sooner had they cleared the Patton, than the Israeli Sherman tank that was engaging it loomed ahead. Brad tromped on the accelerator and sent them sailing off the road and around the Sherman.

“Holy shit,” Nate swore, eyes wide at the site of multiple Pattons and Shermans facing off along the length of Salah al-Din. “Head west,” he shouted over the deafening roar of the continued artillery and tank blasts, “get to the Mandelbaum Gate.”

The Jeep bounced violently as Brad struggled to keep it under control. Nate hoped things would be calmer closer to the Gate. The Jeep flew over a tall berm and the headlights illuminated a large group of Israeli paratroopers, following in the wake of the Sherman tanks. Nate’s stomach plummeted.

“Fuck,” he shouted, clenching his teeth to keep from biting his tongue as they sailed over each rut and rock. “They launched the assault _from_ Mandelbaum. We’re caught right in the crossfire.”

Without warning, Brad turned the Jeep east. He didn’t slow their speed so Nate slid from his seat and bounced nearly on top of him.

“Not now, Nate. I’m a little busy here,” Brad shouted, expression implacable.

Nate was forced to laugh at the absurdity. “Where the fuck are you going?” he demanded, bracing a hand against the dash as Brad sent them sailing through the line of Sherman tanks.

“The American Consulate.” Brad was barely audible over the sounds of the raging battle. “I gotta get you outta this.”

They crossed Salah al-Din once more, passing between two Jordanian Patton tanks, the one beside Nate was so close he thought he might be able to reach out and touch the tracks.

“This is a goddamn no-man’s land,” Nate cried. “There are machine gun bunkers and mines out here.”

“And there are tanks back the other way,” Brad replied.

Bundles of razor wire were coiled where fences had been cut. Brad swerved sharply to avoid pitching them into a trench and Nate could see bodies piled inside of it.

Nate slammed both palms into the dash to avoid colliding with it when Brad braked the Jeep hard. The wheels locked and the vehicle skidded forward and to the side. When they slid to a stop, Nate was inches from an intact razor wire fence stretched in front of a long trench.

“Tell me there are wire cutters in this fucking thing,” Brad said, climbing out and stomping around to the back of the Jeep.

“I’m with the UN,” Nate cried, following Brad to the rear of the Jeep. “Cutting fences actually goes against our stated mission here.”

Bullets and shrapnel rained down around them. Nate pressed himself to the side of the Jeep and felt Brad do the same beside him.

“Fuck,” Brad swore, shoving Nate down to the ground, “get under the Jeep.”

“I’m not helpless, Brad,” Nate snapped, jerking his arm from Brad’s grasp. They were going to get through this together, not with Nate hiding under the Jeep.

“Just until I figure out how to get through the wire,” Brad insisted.

A figure emerged from the darkness, armed with an Uzi machine gun. Brad and Nate both lifted their hands. Brad turned to show his sidearm was securely holstered and that he posed no threat. Nate was thankful the blue of their hats was easily seen in the light of the risen moon and artillery blasts.

“You gentlemen should not be out here,” he said without recrimination. “I am Major Yoffe. Come with me so I may try to get you out of here.”

A group of paratroopers approached the wire fence and quickly cut through it. Brad pushed Nate ahead of him and they followed the Major through the new opening. The paratroopers all jumped down into the trench so Brad and Nate followed.

Major Yoffe gathered his troops around him and issued them orders in Hebrew. They were all going to climb out the far side to the trench. They’d go in two waves. Brad and Nate were to accompany the Major with the first group. They’d proceed in two lines, Nate and Brad in the center and hopefully protected.

“We will try to get you to the Consulate,” Yoffe said. “That _is_ where you are headed, yes?”

“Yes,” Nate and Brad said in unison.

“I am to head south to the Rockefeller Museum, but I will do what I can to get you to safety first.”

Brad withdrew his sidearm from the holster at his waist. Yoffe eyed him carefully.

“As a last resort,” Brad told him in Hebrew. “If we meet a Jordanian who doesn’t respect the blue helmet.”

The Major nodded his understanding. He gave the order for the first wave of paratroopers to exit the trench. The three of them scrambled out immediately afterward. Brad wrapped his fist in Nate’s blue vest. He knew it was to keep them from getting separated and it was also reassuring. Almost without realizing it, Nate formed a tight grip on the sleeve of Brad’s uniform.

The group moved forward quickly, Brad walked in a crouch, keeping Nate low along with him. As they drew closer, the distant lights began to separate and sort themselves out. He was finally able to pick out the American Consulate.

Nate estimated they were about a thousand yards out when the Jordanians pinned them down. The Legionnaires opened up on their position with tank fire and machine guns. Nate realized they were in a kill zone. Major Yoffe shouted at them, gesturing off toward the right and the entire group of paratroopers took off running.

They launched themselves into the trench. Nate landed hard. For one moment he wondered if Brad had made it, and then he was covered entirely by Brad’s weight. He wanted to get up, look out of the trench and assess the situation.

“Stay the fuck down, Nate,” Brad said. “This isn’t your battle.”

Major Yoffe appeared beside them. “I cannot get you to the Consulate,” he said regretfully. “It’s too dangerous. We are digging in at the YMCA, using it as a base while we soften up the Jordanian positions. It is safe to wait there until the way is clear.”

Nate looked at Brad, unable to think of any other solution. Brad was watching Nate carefully.

“Once you’re out of the line of fire, I can regroup, maybe think of another plan,” Brad finally said.

“Alright, let’s go,” Nate told Yoffe.

With the paratroopers providing cover fire, they climbed from the trench and followed Yoffe in the mad dash several hundred yards to the YMCA.

Nate burst through the door, taking a deep breath of air that wasn’t filled with smoke and debris. He slumped against the nearest wall in relief. Brad was suddenly standing close in front of him, a solid wall of heat and concern.

“Are you okay, sir?” he demanded, his eyes running over Nate’s entire form. He was sweaty and his face was covered in soot and grime.

Nate imagined he looked just as wrecked. “I’m fine,” he said, taking a steadying breath. “Combat is different when you can’t shoot back.”

One corner of Brad’s mouth lifted slightly. “That it is.”

“What about you?” Nate asked, noting that Brad was filthy but didn’t appear to be bleeding. “You’re okay, too, right?”

Brad nodded, still breathing heavily. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Nate gave Brad’s arm a squeeze. He wanted to do more. He wanted to reassure himself by running his hands over Brad’s body but that was impossible.

The Israelis were much less helpful than Nate had hoped they would be. They were secretive at first, until Nate made it clear the U.N. was aware Israel was attempting to take Ammunition Hill and would probably go after the Old City. After that, they became defensive.

Nate looked at his watch. 0600 hours. He finally located an Israeli officer who seemed willing to help.

“I can radio Central Command and ask them to notify your commanding officer that you are safe but pinned down,” said the youthful Captain.

“Thank you,” Nate replied, hiding his resentment. “If someone could advise me as soon as it’s safe to cross to the Consulate, we’ll be out of your way.”

Brad located a small, little used room for the two of them to settle down in. They were out of the way but still easy to find if the Israelis had information for them. At the same time, Nate listened in on their conversations. It seemed that out of sight was truly out of mind. Before long, everyone was speaking freely while right outside the door of the room he and Brad were in.

“I can’t hear everything they’re saying. Can you?” Brad asked quietly.

“It sounds like they’re trying to surround the Old City,” Nate replied, keeping his voice low. “Taking Ammunition Hill and the Police Academy was apparently bloody. They’ve got forces coming down from Mount Scopus near Wadi Joz. They’ve just about got the Rockefeller Museum secured. The battle is most contentious at the Augusta Victoria ridge right now.”

“Any idea how long we might be stuck here?”

“Not long, I think. There’s a second force that’s supposed to punch through the Jordanian lines at the American Colony and meet up with Major Yoffe’s troops at the Rockefeller. Once they do that, it should be safe for us to move.”

Just before mid-day, the young Israeli captain appeared in the doorway. “Good news, Lieutenant,” he said, “our forces have all met up at Wadi Joz. It’s safe for you to make your way to the American Consulate.”

Nate followed the Captain to the door of the YMCA. He felt Brad following closely. Outside, the sounds of the raging battle still filled the air but they were a little more distant. Nate could detect no rounds being fired in their immediate vicinity. Artillery fire sounded concentrated to the south. His view of the Consulate was clear and the path across was unobstructed.

“Ready?” has asked Brad.

“Affirmative, sir.”

Nate darted out the door and ran for the tall gate of the U.S. Consulate building. He could hear the heavy thud of Brad’s combat boots right behind him. Nate pushed hard, trusting Brad would keep up. It was an easy run. He wasn’t even breathing hard and the muscles in his legs were just beginning to warm.

They neared the Consulate gate and Brad shouted, “American! Open the gate. We’re American. U.S. Marines, open the gate.”

If their uniforms weren’t enough to identify them, the blue of their hats made it obvious. The well-armed Marines manning the gate opened it for them to pass through and secured it again immediately.

“Are you two the missing Marines?” asked one of the guards.

“We’ve been missing, yes,” Brad replied. “I hope we’re the only two unaccounted for.”

“All I know is that General Bull and the Colonel with the funny voice; Godfather? They’ve been burning up the phone lines to New York and the GOI trying to get the two of you found.”

“If someone can take us to the General and Godfather, we’ll put their minds at ease,” Nate said.

Brad and Nate were quickly shown to a large room that was obviously serving as a temporary UNTSO headquarters.

“Lieutenant. Staff Sergeant,” Godfather greeted them. “Good to have you back with us. I trust you’re both uninjured.”

“We’re both fine, Colonel,” answered Nate. “I appreciate the concern. Did Captain Patterson make it to the Knesset Building okay?”

“Affirmative. He and Gunny Wynn made it up Salah al-Din just before the tanks engaged in battle. It sounds like it was the tanks that had you cut off.”

“That’s correct, sir. Is our presence required here? Or would it be possible to secure transportation to the Knesset Building?”

After a flurry of phone calls, Mike came to get them. It was noon when Nate and Brad entered the ministry room in the Knesset Building.

“You two gave me one hell of a fright,” Patterson said as soon as they entered. “You have no idea how glad I am you’re all right.”

“Not half as relieved as we are to be okay, sir,” Nate replied with a tired smile. “How are things going here?”

Patterson rolled his eyes and Nate couldn’t hide his smirk. He shot a quick glance at Brad to see his lips lifting at one corner.

“King Hussein has been begging for a ceasefire the entire morning,” Patterson said. “He’s sent three telegrams.”

“Based on what we’ve been through, I’d say Israel is ignoring him.”

“That’s right. And what’s more, Eban left for New York at 0600 this morning.”

“He’s going to appeal directly to the Security Council?”

“It appears that way. I’m starting to think Israel is going to insist that taking the Old City is critical to their survival as a sovereign nation.”

“Any word from the Council?”

“They can’t come to an agreement. It’s split just as we thought it would. The Soviet Union wants a return to the partition of June 4th and a censure of Israel for attacking Egypt. The US supports no withdrawal and refuses the censure.”

“Is Israel open to a ceasefire not imposed by the Council?”

“They won’t stop aggressions against Jordan alone. They’re demanding Egypt agree to the ceasefire as well. So far, Nasser is uncooperative.”

“He’s not going to release the blockade without a fight.”

“At this point, I just want them to stop killing each other. We’ll sort out the details of who gets what land and access to what resources once people stop dying.”

“What’s the status of the West Bank?”

“It’s as good as Israel’s at this point. They seem to be holding back there as much as they are with the Old City.”

“I don’t know what the hesitation is with the Old City, but I imagine the Palestinians are what have them thinking twice about owning the West Bank.”

“They’ve never hesitated over the Palestinians before.”

“They’ve spent the last nineteen years watching Jordan assimilate the Palestinians. They’re issuing them I.D. cards and making them Jordanian. If Israel secures the West Bank, the Palestinian identity will stay entirely Palestinian.”

“How do we use that to our advantage?”

“Let them have the Old City if they give back the West Bank and stay out of the Golan Heights?”

“What about Egypt?”

“It was a mistake to pull UNEF out and let Egypt blockade the Strait. No one has believed Egypt had any business doing that but U Thant couldn’t grow a set and tell Nasser to knock it the hell off.”

“Can you imagine how much easier it would be right now if he’d done his job and not let Nasser walk all over him?”

“What’s worse is, I wouldn’t be surprised if he destroyed the UN’s legitimacy entirely.”

“Let’s hope not.”

The ministers returned to the room and they were called to order. All hope Nate had that Patterson would encourage everyone into a ceasefire was shattered almost immediately. The ministers were contentious and shouted them both down, no matter what they proposed.

Brad and Mike sat quietly in the back of the room, silently observing the war of words. As the day stretched on, one of them would leave occasionally, returning with food, water and coffee. Brad’s timing was uncanny. Nate would no sooner feel himself growing tired or impatient, than Brad would appear beside him and he’d find himself refueled and re-energized. Patterson occasionally used the distraction to request a recess that let heated tempers cool.

Brad was irritated and bored but he never let it show to anyone except Nate, and only then in very brief glimpses. He was steady, reliable and reassuring and Nate wondered how he would have made it through the last few days without Brad.

At 2300 hours, the Security Council forwarded Resolution 233. It simply said that the Council called upon the governments to take the first step of a cease in military activities in the area immediately. Jordan and Israel agreed. Egypt rejected it because there was no call for Israel to withdraw from any land it had obtained in the last two days. Additionally, Nasser accused the U.S. of collusion in the attack on Egypt and severed all diplomatic ties.

Patterson excused himself briefly to make a telephone call. When he returned, his expression was grim.

“Are we really of any use here?” Nate asked.

“No,” Patterson said darkly. “I think it’s time we go.”

Nate hardly remembered Brad leading him out to the Jeep. He remembered little of the drive to the hotel. He must have slept.

Once inside their room, Nate stripped out of uniform blouse and tossed it aside negligently. He was too tired to care. He sat heavily on the bed and began to strip out the laces on his boots. It was time for a hot shower and some sleep. Nate just wanted to shut off his brain; he wanted to stop thinking and analyzing and worrying.

He heard the shower turn on. Glancing over his shoulder, Nate saw Brad come out of the bathroom. He’d already removed his boots and was slipping out of his uniform as he crossed the room.

Annoyance flared in Nate’s chest and he pushed it aside. Brad had been through everything Nate had, that day. He must want a shower and some sleep as much as Nate did.

“I’ll shower when you’re done,” he said, rolling the bruised shoulder that had nagged at him all day.

Brad was in front of him, tugging Nate to his feet. Nate didn’t resist; he was too surprised and curious.

“That shower’s small but there’s room enough for the two of us,” Brad said, his hands working on the fly of Nate’s trousers.

“Oh,” Nate replied, warmth flooding his belly and his cock jumping slightly as the implication of Brad’s words settled over him. “I suppose that’ll work.” Nate had never showered with another person before, let alone another man. Intimately, anyway. Boot camp didn’t count; that was too impersonal and at times, demeaning. Nate’s cock grew harder at the thought of Brad’s naked, wet body gliding against his own.

Brad pushed Nate’s trousers down over his hips so they pooled on the floor. “I need a shower before I get any closer to you, and I’d rather not wait any longer to get my hands on you.”

Nate stepped out of his trousers. “I admire your strategic planning.” He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Brad’s parted lips. “And I appreciate your honesty.” Nate turned to head into the shower and yelped in surprise when a stinging slap landed on one ass cheek. He rubbed a hand over the protesting flesh and turned back to face Brad.

“Don’t start anything without me,” Brad said, smiling as he unfastened his own trousers.

Nate snorted a laugh. “You’ll be lucky I let you in with me at all after that.”

“I promise to kiss it and make it better,” Brad replied.

“Well, okay then,” Nate returned his smile and stepped into the hot, steamy bathroom. He climbed into the running shower and sighed. The hot water felt fantastic as it coursed down over him. The spray made his scalp and skin tingle and the heat relaxed his tense muscles. He finally started to feel clean.

Cold air wafted around him as the curtain was pulled back. Nate’s annoyance died at the sight of Brad, naked and half hard, stepping in with him. He wanted to say something clever but Brad didn’t give him a chance. He wrapped his arms around Nate, pulled their bodies together and lowered his head for a kiss.

Nate went readily. He pressed himself to Brad’s body, let their wet skin slide together, and opened his mouth under Brad’s assault. The feel of their cocks rubbing together made Nate grow harder.

Brad pulled back slightly and Nate made a frustrated sound, gripping his shoulders tightly to keep him close. Brad reached for a small bottle of shampoo and poured some out into his palm.

“Close your eyes and relax,” he said, beginning to lather Nate’s hair.

The feel of Brad’s strong fingers on his scalp, washing his hair, raised gooseflesh on Nate’s body. He let his eyes fall shut and he moaned.

“Rinse,” Brad said softly, guiding Nate back under the spray and washing away the lather.

Nate opened his eyes at the feeling of Brad tugging him forward. He tried to push his cock into Brad’s hip, seeking the slide of their wet skin and the firm pressure of Brad’s body pressing back. When Brad teasingly evaded him, Nate tried to reach for the shampoo, wanting to do something to bring Brad pleasure. Instead, Brad moved the shampoo out of Nate’s reach and picked up the soap bar. He worked up a lather and ran his soap-slick hands over Nate’s shoulders and chest.

Brad’s hands were broad and strong. He massaged Nate’s muscles at the same time he cleaned the dirt and sweat from his skin. Brad skimmed the soap down Nate’s belly and around to his lower back. Nate couldn’t remember anyone taking this kind of care with him before. He leaned closer and pressed his face to Brad’s warm neck.

Nate arched backward into Brad’s hands when they brushed down over his ass. He wanted those clever, competent fingers to spread him, open him up and press into him. He wanted the same hands that had expertly driven a Jeep through combat to keep them both safe, to slide into his hole and to wrap around his cock. Nate bit lightly at the juncture of Brad’s neck and shoulder.

Brad shuddered in response, his breathing heavy and harsh over the sound of the running water. Nate smiled in triumph against Brad’s moist skin. Slowly, he was learning the little things that brought Brad pleasure.

Brad hands slid between Nate’s ass cheeks, spreading the soap along his crack and reaching down to his balls. Nate pushed backward, wordlessly telling Brad just what he wanted.

His frustration grew when Brad pulled back, but melted away when those amazing hands wrapped around his cock and cradled his balls. Nate flexed his hips, wanting to fuck into Brad’s fist. There wasn’t enough pressure or friction.

Nate huffed a self-deprecating laugh at the realizing that Brad was actually washing him.

“What?” Brad asked, dropping to his knees to soap Nate’s thighs.

“You’re actually getting me clean,” replied Nate with a disbelieving shake of his head. “I thought this was just a way to get to fuck me again.”

Brad looked up at him, lashes spiky with water and blue eyes pale and intense. “I thought I’d do that after,” he said. “Neither of us has showered in a couple of days and we’ve been through a battle. We both stink.”

Nate laughed, running his fingers over Brad’s cropped hair. It was as soft as it looked. “And once we’re _both_ clean?”

“We have two big, clean beds to choose from.” Brad went back to washing the grime from Nate’s legs.

Now that he realized this wasn’t elaborate foreplay, Nate was surprisingly self-conscious. Brad stood and began to lather Nate’s arms and down his sides. It was absurd but Nate was embarrassed by the intimate cleaning in a way he hadn’t been when Brad had fucked him.

He moved quick and finally got a hand on the shampoo bottle. “Your turn,” Nate announced, reaching for Brad’s hair. He had to stretch up a little but he managed to wash the grime from Brad’s scalp.

Lathering his hands with the bar of soap Brad had discarded, Nate washed Brad in same way he’d been so thoroughly cleaned.

“You’re as good at this as you are at everything else,” Brad said on a sigh.

Nate pushed the fingers of one hand between Brad’s ass cheeks, while he used the other to clean Brad’s erection and tight ball sac. “I’m what?” he asked, confused.

“You’re so fucking good at everything you do,” Brad said on a deep sigh. “It’s a huge fucking turn on.”

Nate dropped to his knees, placing kisses along Brad’s taut belly as he went. “I’m not the one who drove a Jeep through a tank battle and kept us both alive.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t see yourself trying to cajole the Israelis into agreeing to a ceasefire,” Brad responded breathlessly, one hand running over Nate’s scalp. “You call people on their bullshit in the nicest way and you’re too smart for them to manipulate.”

Nate didn’t know what to say to such open admiration. He ducked his head and finished rinsing the soap from Brad’s legs. He rose to his feet and captured Brad’s mouth with his own.

“Bed now?” he asked against Brad’s lips.

Brad’s answer was to shut off the taps.

Nate pulled the curtain back and reached for the stack of towels, handing one off to Brad. He was none too efficient in drying off the water as he left the bathroom in search of his bag. He couldn’t remember what had happened to the Vaseline the night before.

“Nightstand,” Brad said, coming up behind him and tossing aside his own towel, leaving droplets of water behind on his golden skin. “I threw a bunch of stuff in there this morning so it wouldn’t look out of place if Housekeeping looked.”

Nate tugged open the drawer and saw the tub of petroleum jelly, along with nail clippers, regular hand lotion, and few other innocuous grooming items. He had to give Brad credit for thinking ahead at times when Nate’s head seemed anywhere but where it needed to be.

Taking out the tub of Vaseline, Nate set it on top of the table. Then he pulled down the bedclothes, stacking all the pillows he could find against the headboard. He turned to Brad and pulled his head down for kiss.

Nate gave Brad a gentle push and he went willingly, falling back onto the bed. Even as Brad began to slide up to rest on the pillows, Nate was straddling him, coming to rest in his lap. He leaned in and kissed Brad again, reveling in the feel of his hot mouth and slide of his tongue over Nate’s. He’d never understood why kids in his class had made-out for hours on end. Nate had always viewed kissing as an introduction; an interlude. Kissing Brad was damn near as good as fucking.

Not quite, though.

Nate pressed his hips into Brad’s belly, feeling their cocks glide against one another. Brad was as hard as Nate. He wanted to pull back and take Brad’s erection in his hand and make him feel good, but he was pinned to Brad’s chest by the steel bands of Brad’s arms.

He chased Brad’s mouth with his own when Brad pulled back. His lips were back almost immediately, skimming along Nate’s jaw and down his throat.

“How do you want it tonight?” Brad asked, voice low and rough, hitting Nate deep in the gut.

“Just like this,” Nate said on a hoarse whisper, deciding in an instant how he was going to make Brad feel good. He picked up the Vaseline and leaned back, forcing Brad’s arms to release him. Immediately, Nate felt the loss. Brad looked confused so Nate pried off the lid of the petroleum jelly and scooped out a finger full. When he reached behind himself and slid the finger inside, he saw the confusion lift from Brad’s eyes.

“No, not this time,” Brad said, grasping Nate’s wrist. “I get to do that tonight.”

Nate’s breathing stopped and he felt lightheaded as Brad took the tub of Vaseline from him and encouraged Nate to slide his finger free of his ass. Brad covered his own long, thick finger in the jelly and reached around Nate’s hip. He pushed the slippery digit past the clenching muscles of Nate’s ass until he could slide it in, clear to the last knuckle.

The slick glide of that finger inside Nate’s hole was like nothing he’d felt before. Brad was fingering him with intent, trying to make it enjoyable. For Nate, this had only ever been a necessity; a means to an end. He’d never before felt as though prepping his hole was as important as the fucking itself.

Brad pulled out and coated two fingers. They slid in easily this time as Nate relaxed around them. He moaned lewdly and let his eyes fall closed. The sound was louder than he’d ever allowed himself before, always striving to get off a quick as possible or just conscious of semi-public surroundings. Brad reacted to Nate’s moan by fucking his fingers in and out of Nate’s ass.

When Nate managed to open his eyes again, Brad was watching him with a heat and intensity that stole his breath again. He pushed himself down onto Brad’s hand, trying to get more of him and get it deeper.

“Now you,” Nate managed to say around another moan. “Put some on yourself.”

Nate hissed when Brad pulled his fingers free a little too eagerly, but the burn wasn’t enough to cause his raging erection to flag. He watched as Brad eagerly spread Vaseline along the length of his cock, leaving it slick and glistening.

“Now what?”Brad asked, his eyes frantically searching Nate’s face.

“Hold still until I tell you,” Nate replied, rising up on his knees.

He placed one hand on the headboard and used the other to reach between their bodies. Brad gripped Nate’s hips almost painfully. Nate watched Brad watch him place the head of Brad’s cock at the opening to his body. Slowly, he sank down, willing his ass to open up and let Brad in.

Nate gasped as the head slipped in, stretching and burning in all the right ways.

“Oh, fuck,” Brad sighed, his eyes wide as he watched Nate sink down onto his cock.

Nate lifted off slightly then pushed back down, grunting as he slid all the way down to sit in Brad’s lap. He released a deep breath and opened his eyes to see Brad’s eyes searching his face. Nate smiled to let him know it all felt good. Very good.

He wrapped both hands around the back of Brad’s head and started to move. Nate rose up and let Brad’s dick slide out slightly before sinking back down.Brad’s grip on Nate’s hips tightened and he groaned. Nate pressed their foreheads together as he shifted in Brad’s lap, burying Brad’s cock deep inside of himself.This time, the head of Brad’s erection pressed hard against something inside of Nate and he moaned loudly, at the same time Brad made what sounded like a feral growl. Their lips nearly touched and their breath mingled.

Nate repeated that motion, pressing the head of Brad’s cock against that sweet feeling spot each time he sank down and rocked forward in Brad’s lap. He let his eyes drift closed as he reveled in the feel of Brad’s erection stretching him open and filling him up. Nate shivered when Brad ran his hands up over his ribs and around to clutch at his back and hold him close. He kept their foreheads together as he rode Brad’s dick with abandon.

“Fuck,” Brad whispered.

Nate opened his eyes and saw was stunned by the sight of Brad watching him, eyes narrowed, mouth hanging slack.

“What?” Nate asked breathlessly, gliding down onto Brad’s cock once again.

Brad gave a negative shake of his head. “Just … you,” he whispered, mouth falling open wider when Nate took him especially deep.

Nate kissed Brad, just because he could. He’d never done it this way, never seen the face of the person inside of him. He’d never before wanted to see anyone’s face; watch emotions drift across their features. It mattered, though, what Brad was feeling.

Brad’s hands left Nate’s back and the loss of that heat was acute. He watched Brad retrieve the forgotten Vaseline and rub some into the palm of one hand. He gave Nate’s chest a small shove and Nate shifted back in Brad’s lap. The change in angle pressed Brad’s erection more firmly into that one spot inside of Nate that shot fireworks across the backs of his eyelids. He moaned, low in throat.

Brad’s jelly-slick hand wrapped around Nate’s cock, sliding along the length of it with a tight, hot grip. Nate’s hands shifted down to grip Brad’s shoulders hard and he groaned obscenely. Nate thrust forward into Brad’s fist and felt his balls begin to tighten and lift.

“Oh shit,” he gasped, looking down at the red tip of his cock disappear inside the sheath of Brad’s hand. Nate rocked backward on Brad’s cock then forward into his fist and felt bolts of electricity rocket through his entire system. “Fuck, Brad, I’m gonna come on you,” he said desperately.

“That’s the idea,” Brad replied, his eyes roving over Nate’s face intently.

Nate closed his eyes but felt Brad continue to watch him. He felt Brad’s free hand slide around and press against his spine. Nate felt cradled and cared for. It was a strange sensation, as he impaled himself on Brad’s cock and fucked into his fist, but it was a fantastic.

His orgasm rolled over him without warning. Nate’s eyes snapped open and found Brad’s. “Oh, fuck,” he said, clenching his jaw to keep from shouting down the walls of the hotel.

“Yeah, just like that,” Brad whispered, stroking Nate through his climax as hot, white come shot all over the two of them. “Christ, that’s fucking hot.”

Nate gave one final, violent shudder and felt his cock twitch inside Brad’s fist. Suddenly, it was all too much. He reached down and stilled Brad’s hand. “Gimme just a second,” he said between deep, shuddering breaths.

Brad’s hand at the back of his head pulled Nate in for a searing kiss. Nate still didn’t have his breath back but he managed to lick into Brad’s mouth and chase at his tongue.

Nate felt Brad’s hands move from his head, down his chest and around his back. “You came so hard I thought your ass was going to crush my dick,” he said in a rough voice, one corner of his mouth lifting.

Nate shifted on Brad’s cock and was rewarded with a harshly indrawn breath. He lifted himself up so Brad slid out of him partially then sat back down to take him deep.

“Fuck,” Brad said through gritted teeth.

Nate knew how to make this work; he knew how to give Brad the same mind-bending pleasure he’d given Nate. He braced himself on Brad’s shoulders and rocked up and down on Brad’s erection. The stretch felt good, Brad’s cock pushing deep inside of him felt good.

Brad’s hands on Nate’s back tightened and pulled him forward. Nate rested with his chest against Brad’s and felt him come. Brad’s body rocked and shuddered against Nate’s. His cock pulsed inside of Nate’s ass and Nate was faintly aware of liquid heat shooting inside of him. He tightened his muscles, encouraging every last drop out of Brad’s dick.

Beneath him, Brad’s body clenched one last time then collapsed bonelessly. Nate pressed against him and listened to their harsh breathing slowly return to normal, Brad’s body firm and hot under his own.

When their sweat had dried, Nate slowly sat up. “Pulling off is gonna be a bitch,” he said, bracing himself on Brad’s shoulders and carefully sliding off his now softened cock.

Brad hissed and Nate grimaced at the feel of come sliding down his thighs. He retreated to the bathroom to clean himself up, then took a warm, wet cloth out to Brad.

When they were both sufficiently cleaned, Brad tugged Nate down onto the bed beside him. “We’ll mess up the second bed in the morning.”

Nate knew this invitation was as much of an admission as he was going to get. He shut off the bedside light and settled down against Brad to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Wednesday, 7 June, 1967_ **

**_Jerusalem – The Old City  
0800 hours_**

 **_  
_ **

Mike Wynn led them into Patterson’s suite of rooms. He crossed to an end table and picked up a key that he tossed to Brad. “A couple of guys went for the Jeep you guys bailed out of yesterday. Surprisingly, it was undamaged.”

Brad caught the keys with a single hand. “Maybe that ‘U.N.’ painted on the side did some good.”

Nate crossed to where Patterson was reading several thick files. “’Morning, sir,” he greeted.

When the captain looked up, he appeared as exhausted Nate felt. “’Morning. Did you manage to get any sleep?”

Nate hoped there was no sign of a blush on his cheeks as he remembered his and Brad’s return to the hotel room in the early hours of the morning. “I managed some, yes. How about you?”

“A couple of hours. The IDF reached the Mount of Olives and seized the stone tower of Augusta Victoria. Then the fuckers shelled the Muslim Quarter inside the Old City.”

“Shit,” Nate whispered. “Any idea of the casualties?”

“Not yet, it’s been too dangerous. I’m hoping to get that intel this morning. The IDF has been broadcasting over a loudspeaker since about 0200 for the Jordanians to lay down their arms.”

“Is that my assignment today?”

“In part. Shadow the IDF as safely as you can. We’re convinced they’re going to take the Old City today and I want Blue Hats all around to make them think twice about any more violations of the Geneva Convention.”

“Any _more_ violations?” Nate asked incredulously. “What have they done?”

“There are reports they’ve been systematically executing Palestinian soldiers in Gaza.”

Nate stood watching Patterson closely, knowing his mouth hung open in shock.

“Excuse me, sir,” Brad said from just behind him, causing Nate to startle slightly. “Do you know if the executions are being ordered at the field level? Or if they’ve been ordered at a governmental level?”

“We don’t know, Staff Sergeant. If it’s being done at the field level, we’re hoping the Blue Hats and Helmets will inhibit that kind of thing occurring here in Jerusalem.”

“Understood, sir,” Brad replied, looking unsettled. He looked down at Nate. “Are you ready to be oscar-mike, sir?”

“Colonel Mordechai Gur’s paratroopers are massing at the Lion’s Gate,” Patterson said, looking from one of them to the other. “Rachel has bullied the hotel downstairs into packing up breakfast for all of you to take with you this morning.” He looked up at Brad. “Make sure he eats again today.”

“And hydrates,” Brad said in answer.

Brad was as good as his word. Once in the Jeep, he ordered Nate to eat the packaged breakfast, even as he himself juggled driving and tearing into the food.

“You are such a fucking nag, Brad,” Nate said, not the least bid annoyed.

“But you love me anyway,” replied Brad, suddenly looking anywhere but at Nate.

Nate fumbled his fork, heart in his throat. “Yeah, well, your good looks make up for the whole mother-hen thing,” he said, smiling.

They reached the Lion’s Gate just before 0900 hours. Patterson’s intel had been accurate: a large IDF force had gathered there and looked to be preparing to step-off.

“Do you think we can get to the Temple Mount safely?” Nate asked, nervous about following the force into the midst of Jordanian territory and thinking it might be best to get there first.

“You’ll have to tell me how to get there, but we can try,” replied Brad.

Circumventing Colonel Gur’s paratroopers, Brad followed Nate’s directions and steered the Jeep into the Old City and toward the Temple Mount.

It was like a ghost town. Nate decided to take up an over-watch position near the Dome of the Rock. Brad parked the Jeep and they climbed out and walked around to the front.

“I assume the yellow tents are the Jordanian military camp,” Brad said.

“Yes,” replied Nate, leaning against the hood of the Jeep. Brad followed suit a moment later, just brushing their shoulders. “It looks like they just abandoned the city in advance of the Israelis.”

“Could it be a trap?” asked Brad.

“Let’s keep an eye out here and see if there are any signs of one.” Nate glanced at his watch. 0930 hours.

“See that motorcycle to the right of the Dome?” Brad asked after an extended comfortable silence.

Nate finally spotted the vehicle Brad indicated. “Odd place to park a motorcycle.”

“Which makes me wonder if it’s not booby-trapped.”

“Well, it’s for the Israelis to deal with,” Nate said on a sigh. Glancing at his watch, Nate saw that it was just before 0945 hours. A loud, thundering blast rolled through the air and Nate felt the shockwave in his chest.

“What the fuck?” Brad asked. He went to the back of the Jeep and dug around, coming up with a set of binoculars. He looked through them, in the direction from which the blast had come. “They blew open the Lion’s Gate with a Sherman tank,” he reported.

“Christ, they’re fucking serious,” Nate breathed.

“The Jordanians parked a bus in front of the gate and the tank just drove right over it,” said Brad.

He handed Nate the binoculars and Nate raised them in time to watch Colonel Gur’s half-track drive over the debris of the gate and the bus and enter the Via Dolorosa. Their vehicles kicked up sparks as they skidded along the stones of the ancient street.

Nate held his breath as the Colonel’s half-track barreled forward toward the suspicious motorcycle.

“He needs to slow down and check that thing for booby-traps,” Brad said, squinting to see what Nate had a clear view of through the binoculars.

“They’re not stopping,” Nate said with trepidation.

Sniper fire rang out but no Jordanian soldiers could be seen. There was no resistance as the paratroopers raced on, finally coming to an abrupt halt at the Temple Mount. The sudden quiet was deafening as vehicle engines were cut and the snipers fell silent.

Nate stood watching tensely, waiting for Jordanian troops to come rushing out of the tents. After several moments, he realized it wasn’t going to happen. The Jordanians really had fled.

“Shit,” Brad murmured. “They did it. They really fucking did it.”

Nate could smell gunpowder, sweat and dust as he lowered the binoculars, realizing Brad was right. The Israelis had taken the Old City, unchallenged. The unmistakable sounds of celebration rose up on the air. Nate handed Brad the binoculars, not needing them to see the paratroopers pouring out of the vehicles and jubilantly hugging one another.

“We need to get to the Western Wall,” Nate said suddenly, turning to clamber into the Jeep.

Brad slid into the driver’s seat. “Why, what’s wrong?” he asked, pointing the vehicle toward the Wailing Wall.

“There are Arab homes at the base of the wall,” replied Nate. “It’s the main location the Arabs have repeatedly denied Jews access to. It could be a flashpoint, suddenly having Israelis converge on the site.”

The paratroopers continued their frenzied celebration around the golden Dome of the Rock. Even as they passed by, individuals were beginning to descend toward the wall, searching for access to the _Kotel_.

“What are they looking for?” Nate asked distractedly.

“ _Kotel_ is a more mystical word for wall,” Brad replied. “It’s only used in conjunction with the Western Wall.”

Nate realized this had to be a mystical experience indeed for these Jews. No wonder they were using such an old word.

Israelis crowded into the narrow area before the Wall as Brad brought the Jeep to a halt. Already, they were pressing hands and foreheads to the ancient stones; weaving and bobbing in fervent prayer.

“We have the Temple Mount,” came an impassioned shout. Nate turned and saw Gur shouting into his radio handset. “The Temple Mount is ours. The Temple Mount is in our hands!”

Small puffs of dust kicked up around them, followed by faint cracking sounds.

“Sniper,” Brad said, dragging Nate bodily to a sheltered area in front of the Wall.

Looking around, Nate could see the potential danger did nothing to stem the joyous celebration. 

The crowd began to part and Nate spotted General Schlomo Goren. The chief Ashkenazi rabbi of the IDF labored under the weight of the Torah scroll he carried.

“Brad, help him,” Nate said, gesturing toward Goren’s shuffling form. Nate would go himself but this was a holy act taking place and he was a gentile. If the rabbi needed assistance with the Torah, it would be better for Brad to help.

“Nate,” Brad said, obviously hesitating.

“He’s an old man with a holy relic, he might need your help,” Nate insisted.

Brad carefully approached the old man, clearing a path through the crowd and holding him steady as he tottered toward the Wailing Wall, clutching the oversized scroll. Nate followed behind, impressed with Brad’s gentleness and the ease with which he helped the rabbi to reach the Wall. He hadn’t meant for Brad to be here, at this historic moment. Now that they were here, it seemed right that Brad should see it; experience it.

Rabbi Goren reached the wall and began to weave and pray. Gur joined him.

Brad came to stand beside Nate. “He carried that thing all the way up the hill and climbed over the debris of the Lion’s Gate,” said Brad, in awe.

They stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the ecstatic soldiers and officers celebrate with drinks of whiskey.

Nate caught was the first to catch sight of the delegation of Arabs approaching the crowd of soldiers. He grabbed Brad’s arm and dragged him forward, making sure Gur could see the two of them watching this exchange.

It was peaceful, to Nate’s relief. The Arabs formally surrendered the Old City and Gur graciously accepted. Nate relaxed when it became apparent it wouldn’t be a hostile scene.

As they observed, more and more soldiers poured into the area in front of the Wall. Many were crying. Almost all of them prayed at the Wall. It amazed Nate just how many people could fit in the space, with more coming in every minute.

He glanced at his watch. 1330 hours. A scuffle grabbed Nate’s attention. A group of paratroopers hauled a Jordanian prisoner in front of General Gur.

Brad turned toward Nate and said in a low, careful voice, “They’re prisoner hunting.”

“They’re what?”

“They’re rounding up Arabs to execute or evict, under the guise of searching for hostile Jordanian soldiers.”

“Fuck.”

Nate moved in among the soldiers and officers. He struck up friendly conversations, just to let everyone know they were there. The U.N. was watching. Nate knew he couldn’t prevent the IDF from taking the Arabs elsewhere and executing them, but his and Brad’s presence seemed to curtail the activity at least.

Things seemed calmer a half-hour later when a helicopter arrived at the Temple Mount. Nate’s jaw dropped when Moshe Dayan and Yitzhak Rabin both climbed out.Dayan was every inch the conquering hero and Rabin appeared much healthier than he had the last time Nate had seen him.

The large crowd of Israelis swarmed Dayan, praising and thanking him. He’d delivered an ancient dream to his people and they were grateful.

Nate wondered where Eshkol was. As Prime Minister, the securing of the Old City had taken place on his watch and he should be here gloating as much as, if not more than, Dayan.

When the press converged on the Wall and Dayan held his conference, Nate realized he’d deliberately excluded Eshkol; he’d upstaged him.

Dayan held the press in the palm of his hand, without having to share the limelight, for nearly an hour before Prime Minister Eshkol arrived. He said a prayer at the Wailing Wall, slipping a piece of paper in between two blocks in a tradition that was centuries old.

Glancing around, Nate realized one key player was missing. Former Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion had dreamed of a Jerusalem unified under Israel since he’d helped form the country in 1949. He’d vocally denigrated Eshkol and extolled Dayan’s virtues during this entire conflict and Nate found it odd he wasn’t here to celebrate, if not gloat.

Not long after Nate noticed the absence, he caught sight of Ben-Gurion, accompanied by Teddy Kolleck, when he arrived at the wall. Nate watched them conferring secretly as they were given a brief tour, passing within feet of where Brad stood.

When they had moved on, Brad approached Nate. “Those two just agreed to expel all Arabs from the Jewish Quarter.”

Nate sighed heavily. He was growing more concerned for the Palestinians of Jerusalem by the minute. “Arabs have occupied the land they call Palestine for more than a thousand years. They lost Jerusalem to the Christians during the Crusades but then took it back. Where Christians had slaughtered every Arab in Jerusalem, the Arabs let the Christians leave unharmed.”

“I sense a larger point here,” Brad said dryly.

“The Jews claim this was their land first, that it was taken or they were forcibly removed from it. But we’re talking about thousands of years of history, none of which matters to the farmers, merchants, mothers and fathers who all owned land and businesses in Palestine right up until it became Israel.” Nate exhaled sharply in frustration.

“The Jewish people, historically, were here first,” Brad said.

Nate could tell he was careful with his tone and words, so he kept his own temper in check. “They don’t care who was here first, all they know is that their great-grandfather’s farm was taken from them and given to a Jew. The Palestinians have no home of their own, now. They’re relegated to tent cities and slums on land grudgingly set aside for them by other countries.”

“It’s a complicated issue, sir,” Brad said in a low voice. “And not one you can solve today. Especially since your relief is in the field.”

Nate followed Brad’s gesture and spotted another pair of observers setting in on high ground. “I suppose we should RTB,” he said.

“Roger that,” replied Brad as he followed Nate back to the Jeep.

The hotel HQ was nearly empty when they arrived. Rachel told Nate that Captain Patterson had finally taken a break and gone down to have dinner in the restaurant.

All Nate wanted was room service and sleep. Even though he badly wanted a BLT, he settled for a turkey dinner. He was so tired of fish and fowl he would have skipped supper if not for the look in Brad’s eye.

When Brad stood in front of him and stripped him down to his skivvies, Nate tried to be interested in the activity. Brad’s hands felt good on his body, but Nate was just so fucking tired.

To his surprise, Brad pulled back the bedclothes and pushed Nate down onto the bed, then covered him up.

“Get some sleep, Nate,” he said, shutting off the bedside light. “You’re dead on your feet.”

“What are you going to do?” Nate asked, hoping Brad didn’t go far. Even if they weren’t going to fuck, he still liked the idea of having Brad nearby.

Sitting on the second bed, Brad began to unlace his boots. “The same thing you are. Now go to sleep.”

“Fine,” Nate sighed. He wished he and Brad could share the same bed; he wished that they could share the intimacy of sleeping together.

He was dozing, just about the slip into sleep when the phone rang. He jolted awake and snatched it up.

“Lieutenant Fick,” he said, feeling the tell-tale tingling of an adrenaline rush.

“Sorry to disturb, LT.” Gunny Wynn drawled. “Captain Patterson wanted me to let you know that at 2200 hours this evening, Israel accepted the Soviet sponsored cease-fire.”

Nate sighed in relief. “That’s good news, Gunny, thank you.”

He hung up the phone.

“What’s the good news?” Brad asked. Nate could only just make out the lines of his form in the other bed.

“Israel accepted the cease-fire.”

“Maybe the end of this thing is in sight.”

“I hope it is, but I have a very bad feeling.”

“Try to sleep, Nate. Maybe things’ll look brighter in the morning.”


	12. Chapter 12

**_Thursday, 8 June, 1967_ **

**_Israeli Occupied Jerusalem  
0930 hours_**

 

Jerusalem was a mess. It looked like just what it was: a city that had been a war zone only the day before. Buildings showed signs of blast and fire damage. There were craters in the streets from artillery. There were people at least. The residents had emerged from the bomb shelters and had begun to clean up their yards and their homes.

As they approached her house, Shalhevet was out front, sweeping debris from the porch. Nate released a pent up breath when he saw her, apparently unharmed. When she caught sight of them, Shalhevet set aside her broom and came toward them, hands extended.

“Nathaniel,” she said, pulling him in and kissing each of his cheeks. “You are well? I thought of you often, knowing you would be right where things were most dangerous.”

“We found ourselves right in the middle of the IDF’s push to take over the Rockefeller Museum,” Nate told her. “But we were lucky.”

Shalhevet turned to Brad and held one of his large hands between her two smaller ones. “You kept him safe, yes?”

“He didn’t make it easy,” Brad said, ruefully. “But I knew you’d want him to be okay so I made him keep his head down.”

Shalhevet turned on Nate. “Did you give this sweet boy trouble? Shame on you.”

Nate held his hands up in surrender.

“I am sorry I have nothing to offer you to eat or drink,” she said, leading them back toward her home. “We only just left the shelter this morning and I am still cleaning up the mess.”

“Was there much damage to your home?” Nate asked.

“To the house, no,” she replied, taking up her broom once again. “Many things were broken when they fell from shelves or from the cupboards. Something landed in our garden and destroyed my tree. God was watching over us, though.”

“I’m very happy you’re okay,” Nate said. “How is your son?”

“He and his family are well. Things were a little quieter in Tel Aviv,” answered Shalhevet. “He complains about how the Palestinians are making traffic difficult now. How they are crowding everywhere as they are leaving. Good riddance, of course, but they have to make things difficult instead of just going quietly as they should.”

Anger burned hot in Nate’s chest for a brief moment, before he reminded himself he liked Shalhevet. “Does your son know where the refugees are going?” Nate asked, wondering how long he’d be able to hold his tongue.

Shalhevet chuckled. “You are too generous, Nathaniel. You have a good heart. They are not refugees, they are invaders. I suppose they are going to Jordan. It’s none of my concern, as long as they go.”

Nate glanced at Brad to find he was already watching Nate closely, his expression impassive. Nate liked Shalhevet; she was a kind and friendly woman. It just made him uncomfortable that she was pleased that Palestinian families had been uprooted and were fleeing the only homes most of them had known. They were not invaders, they’d lived on this land for generations, but the Jews saw this as their land and everyone else didn’t belong.

“Is there anything you need, ma’am?” Brad asked suddenly. “Is there any way we can help you?”

Shalhevet patted Brad’s arm. “No, but thank you. My son and his family are coming to help. You _are_ a sweet boy, too.”

Nate pressed a light kiss to her wrinkled cheek and he and Brad took their leave.

“It’s not your fault, Nate,” Brad said quietly when they were out of earshot. “You did everything you could to prevent this. Israel wanted war and they were a juggernaut you had no way of stopping. Your job now is to make sure they don’t start executing the Palestinians before they can get to the East Bank.”

“I know you’re right, but I can’t help but be frustrated. Shalhevet is a kind woman, and yet, she doesn’t think anything of forcing out the Palestinians and keeping them trapped in refugee camps. She was rounded up and locked in the Warsaw Ghetto, but sees nothing wrong with forcing the Palestinians into tent cities in the West Bank and Gaza.”

“I know.” Brad’s reply was low and sad. Nate realized this was affecting him, too. Maybe even more so. As a Jew, Brad identified with the Israelis in a way Nate never could. “You just keep them alive here, Nate. The Red Cross and UNRWA will take care of them if they can get to the camps.”

“What are they going to do except put the refugees in tent cities?” Nate demanded angrily. “They can’t give the Palestinians back their pride or their homes.”

Brad was silent. Nate took a minute to remember he was angry at the situation, not at Brad.

“I’m sorry,” he said when he’d calmed down. “I shouldn’t take this out on you.”

“If it helps you keep functioning, I’m okay with it,” Brad replied easily.

Nate glanced at him. Brad appeared relaxed, as if he really didn’t mind being Nate’s whipping boy.

Riza’s family hadn’t fared as well as Shalhevet, but they had made it to a shelter and were all still alive and relatively unharmed.

“There was damage to the apartments on the upper floors,” she explained, wiping her hands on a dingy apron. “The Civil Defense has already been here, though.” Surprise was obvious in her voice and on her face. “We had no electricity when we first returned and it was restored quickly. Minor repairs have already begun on the damaged apartments. It doesn’t seem to matter we are Mizrahi.”

“Israel feels united,” Brad told her. “It only matters that you’re Jewish and not Arab. Minister Begin is making sure the Mizrahi matter now.”

“I suppose. I just hope it lasts once the euphoria of victory has waned. My father prayed at the Wall this morning. He cried.”

Nate smiled down at her, his heart warming at her quiet joy. It almost eased the ache that had become his constant companion these last days. “I’m very happy you and your family are well, Riza.”

As they were leaving the apartment, Nate caught Riza smiling shyly at Brad. She blushed prettily when Brad met her eyes and gave a polite nod. Nate was surprised to realize he found Riza’s crush endearing. Probably because he understood her attraction.

“What? No witty comment?” Brad asked when they were out of Riza’s earshot.

Nate chuckled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

All humor died when they reached Ramiz’s home, Nate’s stomach lurched. There was much more damage here in the Arab neighborhood than they’d seen in the Jewish ones. Some buildings still smoldered and bodies littered the street. The smell was horrendous and Nate had to swallow back bile. As they passed swollen bodies, he or Brad would use a boot to shift it so Nate could see the face. Each time he didn’t recognize the person, he felt a brief moment of relief.

Pressing the back of his hand to his nose and mouth in a nearly useless filter, Nate slowed his steps as they approached Ramiz’s house. It was charred in places, the front courtyard ripped up as if a tank or half-track had run through it. As they drew closer, Nate could already tell the house was empty.

Nate started to enter through the front door. He felt Brad’s hand in his vest, holding him back.

“It’s not safe in there,” Brad said. “It caught fire; the structure is weakened.”

“Did they make it out?” Nate asked, wondering if it would be better or worse for Ramiz and his family to be alive and heading for the East Bank.

“Maybe they got lucky and made it to the East Bank,” Brad said, in a futile attempt to comfort Nate. “You said they were Jordanian originally, right?”

“He had family who fled to Jordan in ’48,” Nate corrected.

Brad nodded but remained silent, possibly sensing Nate wasn’t in the mood for hollow comfort.

The roads in Jerusalem were flooded with refugees. Nate felt sick at the sight. Brad drove slowly, mindful of the children. There were so many women and children. Just that morning, Patterson had said they’d had reports that nearly twenty to thirty thousand refugees had already fled to the East Bank.

One family in particular caught Nate’s attention and wouldn’t let it go. A slight woman held an infant in one arm and dragged an oversized bag behind her. She was surrounded by four other children, all stumbling along with her, dragging their possessions along. The oldest child wasn’t yet ten years old.

Nate’s heart clenched. “Fuck, Brad. They may not even make it to a refugee camp,” he said disconsolately.

“We’ve got room,” Brad pointed out.

Nate hesitated. They shouldn’t get involved. All of these people needed help, did they have the right to select this family over any other?

“Only as far as the edge of the city,” Nate said firmly. “We can’t take them all the way to a refugee camp.”

“Understood, sir,” Brad replied, pulling the Jeep alongside the struggling family.

Nate climbed out and offered a ride to the young mother. She looked so relieved, it broke his heart. Nate guided the children toward the rear of the vehicle where Brad loaded their possessions. He helped the kids climb into the backseat. Glancing back, he saw Brad holding up both hands, palms out, shaking his head vigorously.

“No, ma’am,” Brad was saying when Nate came around the vehicle. “No, don’t hand that thing to me.”

The woman was undaunted. She pressed the infant to Brad’s chest until he had no choice but to take the baby in his arms. He looked up at Nate imploringly. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” He seemed more distressed than angry.

Nate couldn’t hold back his smile. The supremely competent Brad Colbert was at a loss for what to do with an infant human. Warmth spread through Nate’s chest at the sight of Brad cradling the baby to his chest, bouncing slightly in an attempt to sooth the fussy bundle.

The woman had climbed into the backseat of the Jeep and now leaned out the open door to call to Brad. As fast as anything Nate had seen, Brad walked to the door and handed the baby back to its mother. He shut the door carefully and Nate actually heard him sigh with relief.

Brad resumed his slow, careful driving as they made their way out of Jerusalem. Just outside the city, the numbers of refugees thinned out, but only slightly. There were still thousands of them. Brad pulled off the road and they all climbed out of the Jeep.

The young mother was so grateful, it was painful to see. They had shaved at least ten miles off of the walk she and her children would have to make to reach the nearest UNRWA refugee camp.

As they watched the woman and her children head off down the road, Nate felt a sense of satisfaction that they’d been able to help one family in this small way. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Let’s head back,” he said to Brad, feeling as though something heavy had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Next time, _you_ hold the baby,” Brad said as he climbed behind the wheel.

Nate laughed.

Back at the hotel, the rooms that were essentially Captain Patterson’s HQ were buzzing with activity when Nate and Brad walked in.

Nate approached Captain Whitmer who stood with Poke, watching the flurry. Both men were eating thick sandwiches and Nate’s mouth watered. He glanced at his watch and was surprised to see it was well after noon. He and Brad had been on patrol longer than he’d realized.

“What the hell has happened now?” Nate asked on a sigh that sounded as weary as he suddenly felt.

“What do you think has happened, Nate?” Whitmer asked, his tone sharp with annoyance.

Nate glanced at him quickly to see if he was the source of Whitmer’s foul mood. But the captain just shook his head and handed him a copy of _Haaretz_. The front page called for the military to ‘finish the job’ and turn its attention to Syria. Nate pressed his mouth into a thin line of annoyance and handed the newspaper to Brad. Whitmer’s mood was definitely understandable. Nate wanted to bite somebody’s head off, too. But he managed to hold back from taking his frustration out on Brad. He’d done that enough to him this morning already, much to his shame. “Israel attacked Syria,” he said glumly.

“The observers in the Golan Heights told us that Israel launched an intensive air and artillery bombardment. It started about 1000 hours,” Whitmer said around a large bite of sandwich. “It’s gotta be a prelude to the large-scale attack.”

“They’ve all but destroyed Egypt and Jordan,” Poke said, gesturing at the large amounts of food laid out and indicating Brad should help himself. “Syria will just complete the trifecta and pretty much ensure Israel’s the biggest bad-ass in the region. Nobody’ll fuck with ‘em after this. Not Iraq, not Lebanon.”

“If Nasser would realize he’s lost and just accept the cease-fire, Israel wouldn’t have any reason to keep holding out,” Nate said in frustration.

Suddenly, Brad was looming in front of Nate. He handed him a sandwich and a tall glass of water. “You need to eat and hydrate, Lieutenant.”

Nate lifted an eyebrow in annoyance but he took the food and the drink anyway. He bit into the sandwich and made a face at the bland taste of yet another chicken breast. “I can’t wait to go home. The first thing I’m going to do is have a ham sandwich, followed by an entire side of bacon.”

Brad chuckled and turned back to the food to help himself.

“Do you mean that, Nate?” Whitmer asked.

“What? About wanting a ham sandwich? Don’t you?” Nate asked.

“You said you can’t wait to go home. Not that you can’t wait to get home on leave,” said Whitmer.

Poke was watching Nate with mild curiosity as he chewed on a sandwich. Brad was watching Nate with a steady intensity. It was as though Nate’s answer mattered very much.

“Yeah,” Nate surprised himself by saying. “Yeah. This mission is something I don’t think I can be a part of.”

Brad suddenly spoke up. “As bad as things are, you do realize that our presence here is keeping it from being a hell of a lot worse?”

“You saw those bodies today,” Nate said angrily, unable to continue eating. “How much worse can it get? They’re summarily executing Palestinian prisoners in Gaza.”

“If it's the bodies that are getting to you, Nate, stay out of the Old City’s Arab Quarter,” Whitmer said.

Nate set down the half eaten sandwich. He knocked back the glass of water and immediately felt it sour in his stomach. “Is it bad?” he asked.

“It’s war,” said Whitmer gently.

“I’ve seen combat, but I’ve never seen civilians targeted and then left in the streets to rot.”

“Then you’re lucky, sir,” Brad replied. “Cause it’s happening all the time in Vietnam.”

Nate watched Brad’s shuttered expression closely. He’d heard the rumors. He suspected Brad could confirm them.

“Lieutenant Fick,” Patterson called from across the room, startling Nate. “Staff Sergeant Colbert. Over here. I need to speak with you two.”

“Sir?”

“How you holding up, Nate?” Patterson asked.

“I can continue to do my job, Captain,” replied Nate.

Patterson looked hard at him for several long moments. “What’s got you unsettled today?”

Nate swallowed hard and clenched his jaw.

Brad came to his rescue. “One of Nate’s regular contacts, a Palestinian, is missing. The family’s house was burned out. There were dead bodies left to rot in the streets.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Patterson said. Nate believed he meant it. “You know I need your help to make sure things don’t get even worse for the Arabs left in Jerusalem, don’t you?”

Nate straightened his spine. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

“Good.” Patterson laid a hand on his shoulder briefly before turning to Brad. “You ready to be repatriated, Staff Sergeant?”

Nate’s heart leapt into his throat. He was pissed at himself for forgetting Brad wasn’t with UNTSO. He should have been ready for the fact that the disbanding of UNEF would mean Brad would be shipped home.

“With respect, Captain,” answered Brad, “no, I’m not. The work we’re doing feels important. Having said that, I was aware that when UNEF’s mission was terminated, my assignment here became terminal.”

“I’m going to be sorry to see you go, Sergeant,” replied Patterson. “Your help has been invaluable at a time we sorely needed it.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m glad to have been of service. Any word on when we’ll be shipping out?”

“The Australians are heading out today. The Canadians tomorrow. Most of the Europeans left this morning. I expect you all to be recalled any day now.”

“Are we to be allowed back into the compound? Most of my belongings are still there.”

“No word on that, yet. General Bull is pushing hard but so far, the GOI isn’t budging. If we can retrieve your possessions after you’ve gone, we’ll have them shipped to you.”

“Appreciate that, sir.”

“Until we know when you’re leaving, do you want to keep patrolling with Nate? Godfather was going to have you all surrender your sidearms but until the Israelis get the snipers under control, he thought you should keep them.”

“I agree, sir, thank you. And yes, I’d like to accompany Lieutenant Fick on patrol up until the last possible moment.”

“That’s settled then.” Patterson turned back to Nate. “You heard that Israel’s begun air and arti strikes on Syria?”

“Yes, sir. Captain Whitmer informed me.”

“Syria has retaliated by bombing several Israeli communities. A new front is opening up before we’ve even got a cease-fire agreement from the original combatants. The GOI claims they’re capitulating to world pressure and won’t launch a full attack. That’s also what they said just before attacking Egypt and overrunning the U.N. compound. With the Security Council seemingly unable to agree on any kind of resolution with consequences for Israel, they’re going to think they can keep acting with impunity.”

“Any word on the reason for the hold up of a resolution?”

“The Soviets want to censure Israel for attacking Egypt and demand a withdrawal back to the positions held as of the 4th of June. Israel won’t go for the withdrawal and the U.S. is digging in against a censure.”

“So, while they argue about it, Israel is going to take over the Golan Heights.”

“It’s even worse than that. Nasser just announced that the Soviets are about to deliver two hundred new MiGs to them. I’m going to have my hands full while all of this is going on. The observers in the Golan have had it easy the last few days. They’re about get a taste of what we’ve just gone through. Can I trust you to keep an eye on the Old City and keep me apprised of what Teddy Kolleck gets up to?”

“You can, sir.”

“I thought so.” Patterson smiled. “Major Eckhof is out there right now so you don’t have to hurry off. Make sure you’re fed and hydrated.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll do that, sir.”

They returned to where Whitmer and Espera were standing. Brad picked up Nate’s discarded sandwich and handed it to him. He refilled the glass of water and pushed that into Nate’s hand as well.

Whitmer and Poke looked on in amusement.

“Hey, Brad,” said Poke, “did the captain have any more idea when we’re going to be _repatriated_?”

Brad snorted. “No, the Captain did not have any solid intel on when we’re going to be sent home.”

“Man, I can’t believe this shit. You know how long and hard I worked to get this job? Now the entire organization just don’t exist anymore.”

“There are plenty of peacekeeping missions around the world,” Whitmer said. “And more of them are cropping up all the time.”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll get myself sent to South America next time. Get in touch with my roots. Get to know my people.”

“No peacekeeping mission in Los Angeles, last I heard,” Brad deadpanned.

Poke snorted and shook his head, but it was obvious he’d found Brad humorous.

“Well, we’ve malingered long enough,” Whitmer announced. “Ready to go keep the peace, Espera?”

“Yep. Let’s go let Israel know the big bad U.N. is watching their ass.”

When they’d gone, Brad gestured toward an over-stuffed wingback chair next to a floor-to-ceiling window. “Why don’t you sit down to finish your sandwich? You look dead on your feet.”

Nate sank down into the chair heavily. He sighed, feeling weary right down to his bones. He finished the sandwich and Brad refilled his water glass.

“You’ve been taking care of me since you got here, and I haven’t been paying any attention to you,” Nate said suddenly, feeling awful about that. “Have you been staying fed and hydrated?”

“Of course. If I don’t stay combat effective, I’m no good to you. And, you have an important job to do.”

“For all the good it’s doing.”

“Why don’t you just rest there for awhile? Exhaustion might be coloring your perception.”

Nate gazed out the window, admiring the bright, white city of Jerusalem. It certainly wasn’t the city he’d come to love over the last year.

He must have dozed. One moment it was 1300 hours and the room was filled with the quiet buzz of conversation. The next he knew, it was nearly 1430 and Patterson was speaking sharply into the telephone. Several civilian staff were coming and going rapidly from the room. Nate saw Rachel and Anna among them.

Nate stood and crossed to where Brad stood. “What the fuck is going on? Did Israel attack Syria?”

“No,” Brad said angrily. “It sounds like they attacked the U.S.”

“What?” Nate gasped, eyes wide as he searched Brad’s face for any indication he was joking.

“Patterson’s on the phone with Godfather over at the U.S. Consulate.”

Captain Patterson slammed down the phone. “Thirty minutes ago, IAF jets attacked the _U.S.S. Liberty_ just off the coast of Israel,” he announced to the room.

“I thought the U.S. had pulled all its ships out of the area,” said Nate.

“They pulled the warships. The _Liberty_ is a spy ship. It’s got four fifty caliber guns and the rest of her equipment is for eavesdropping.”

“Is there a chance it was an error?” Brad asked.

“There’s a chance, yes,” replied Patterson. “There’s also a chance Israel didn’t want the U.S. to hear something they’re planning.”

“Golan?” Nate asked.

“Or possibly something nuclear?”

“Shit,” Nate hissed.

The telephone rang and Patterson snatched it up. Nate began to pace.

Hanging up the phone again, Patterson said, “Torpedo boats just opened fire on the _Liberty_. She’s been hit and is disabled. She’ll most likely sink.”

“Beg your pardon, sir,” said Brad. “Is there a possibility it wasn’t Israel who attacked the ship?”

“Sailors on board report clearly seeing the Star of David on the tails of the _Myst_ _é res_.”

Just after 1500 hours, Major Eckhof and Sergeant Patrick arrived, obviously puzzled by all the intense activity of everyone in the room.

“What happened, Nate? Israel launch the full attack against Syria?” Eckhof asked.

“The IAF attacked the _U.S.S. Liberty_ in Egyptian waters,” replied Nate. “We’re still getting details.”

Patterson hung up the phone once more. “A large troop-carrying helicopter circled the damaged ship and then flew off without making contact or attempting to render aid.”

“And there’s no question the Israelis knew it was an American ship?” Nate asked.

“At 0900, 1000 and 1030, _Mirage_ fighter-bombers with the Star of David on their tails did fly-overs. Also at 1030 hours, a flying-boxcar flew over so low, the sailors on deck could make out the portholes for its cameras. They knew.”

“Has Israel commented?” Brad asked.

“They claim it was an error. Based on the reports of those fly-overs, there’s no way that’s possible.”

“Now what?” Eckhof asked.

“The U.S. seems to be accepting Israel’s apology.”

“Of course they are,” Brad muttered. He turned toward Nate, seeming angry. “Why don’t we head out on patrol? There’s nothing we can do here.”

Nate agreed. Activity would help distract them and burn off some of their impotent anger. Together, they left the hotel in silence.

~*~

 **_1900 hours_ **

Nate and Brad returned to the hotel. Nate planned to take a long, hot shower, order room service, and sleep, but the feeling of Brad’s hand at the small of his back had him revising his list. He suddenly wanted to lose himself in Brad’s body, to forget everything in some human contact.

Patterson looked even more exhausted than before. Nate hadn’t thought that was possible.

“All quiet out there, Nate?” he asked.

“For now,” Nate replied.

“Have you heard that Nasser accepted the cease-fire?”

“No, I hadn’t. That’s good, right?”

“Now if Syria will accept it, maybe we can get some sleep.”

“That would be nice,” Nate smiled wearily. “Is there any update on the U.S.S. Liberty, sir?”

“Surprisingly, she didn’t sink,” Patterson replied. “There were several wounded, mostly burns, but thankfully, none of the sailors died.”

“That’s excellent news,” Nate said with a relieved sigh. “Do you need me for anything, sir?”

“No, get out of here. Get some sleep. Get to the Old City tomorrow and keep them honest.”

“Yes, sir. Good night, Captain.”

Nate didn’t remember the walk to their room. Once the door shut behind them, he took off his beret and threw it unceremoniously onto the dresser. “I need a shower,” he announced, unbuttoning his uniform blouse.

“With company or without?” Brad asked, sitting down to unlace his boots.

“Without. I need to gather my thoughts. That doesn’t mean you’re safe for the night, though.” Nate managed a smile.

“Copy that.” Brad returned his smile.

“Would you order room service while I shower? I’m not leaving this room again tonight unless Israel bombs it.”

“After today, I think that might actually be a possibility.”

“You and me both.”

The water was hot as it cascaded down over Nate’s tense muscles. The dirt washed away but he didn’t feel clean. He didn’t like what was happening in Jerusalem. It seemed like it was going to get worse and never better. This was not the mission he’d signed up for. He wondered if it ever really had been.

Maybe agreeing to an extension of his contract had been a mistake. Maybe the only way to do anything to help the Palestinians was to do it indirectly, rather than head-on inside of Israel.

Nate shook the water out of his hair in frustration. How could a people so persecuted throughout their entire existence be so blindly hateful and violent? They justified it all by invoking the Holocaust, but Nate didn’t see the difference between what they had endured and what they were inflicting upon others right now.

Tugging on his uniform trousers and nothing else, he padded barefoot out of the bathroom and sat down on the bed, letting his head hang between his shoulders. Exhaustion rolled over him and settled deep in his bones. The one good, steady thing Nate had clung to in these last days was leaving soon and he had no idea if he’d ever see Brad again.

“Do you want the chicken or the lamb?” Brad asked, breaking into Nate’s reverie.

Nate snorted. “Neither. I want a pork chop. I want a big, thick ham steak.” The funny thing was, Nate had never eaten much pork before he got to Jerusalem. Maybe this was just another symptom of his anger at the Israelis.

Brad chuckled. “Wrong country for that.”

“Don’t I know it. Chicken. I don’t really care for lamb.”

“This isn’t as good as my mom’s but it’s alright,” Brad remarked.

“Your mom a good cook?” Nate was curious about Brad’s family, and even more curious to see what details Brad would share.

“Yeah, really good,” Brad said easily. “They don’t observe strict kosher except on high holidays, but she does tend to stay away from pork. Except for bacon. I refuse to live a life without bacon.”

They ate in silence. Brad cleared way the dishes and set them in the hall outside the door.

“Something you want to talk about?” Brad asked, sitting on the second bed, across from Nate. He’d stripped off his own boots.

The knowledge that Brad would be repatriated in the next day or two had Nate thinking about the future more than he had in the last couple of years. He wasn’t just unsure what he wanted to do with his life anymore, he was unsure what the impending separation from Brad would mean for them personally.

“You know, I always thought that when I was done working for the U.N., I’d leave the Corps altogether and go back to school, “Nate said quietly, testing the waters.

“And study what?” Brad asked, face implacable.

That was one of the things Nate was so unsure of. “Advanced international policy? Arab studies? I haven’t decided, yet.”

“There’s time.”

Nate rubbed his palms together. He wondered if Brad’s plans for his own future would hold any clues. “You ever think about leaving the Corps?”

Brad gave an emphatic shake of his head. “No. I’m not always sure what it is in the Corps I want to do, what I should do, but I know I want to stay in.”

Nate’s heart was in his throat and forced his voice to steady when he spoke. “Have you always been stationed out west?”

“Yeah. I’ve gone to school and attended specialized training back east, but my assignments have always been out west.”

Nate nodded his understanding. He thought he could get into Stanford or Berkeley if he wanted. So far, there was no point though. Brad was giving up no clues as to what he was thinking; what he wanted from Nate, if anything.

“That’s just because that’s where the units I’ve been in have been stationed,” Brad said suddenly, blue eyes watching Nate intently. “I could always put in for units based back east.”

Nate had always wondered if he could get into Harvard. “Could you? Would you, seems the better question.”

“If I had a good reason, yeah.” Brad seemed to want to say more.

“What?” Nate prompted.

“If you went back to school …”

“I don’t have one picked out, yet,” Nate hedged. “There are some good schools out west I’d be willing to look at.”

“When you get leave here, you could come out and visit,” suggested Brad. “Maybe look at a couple of those schools.”

Nate’s stomach felt like it did on the first descent when he rode a Ferris wheel; like he was falling, but a good kind of falling. “I’d like that,” he replied simply.

Nate didn’t want to talk anymore. He was afraid more words would break the pleasant mood that had come upon them both. Sliding from the bed, he knelt between Brad’s legs, leaned in and kissed him.

Brad’s hand immediately curled around Nate’s skull to cradle him and hold him close. Nate licked at Brad’s lips and felt him open. Brad’s tongue was warm and eager against Nate’s.

Pulling back from the kiss, Nate grinned at Brad’s groan of frustration. Brad’s hands on his head tightened and tried to tug him back in, but Nate refused. Instead, he pulled Brad’s undershirt over his head and threw it aside. He kissed a path down Brad’s chest and belly and this time the sound Brad made was low and feral.

Nate opened the fly of Brad’s trousers and reached into his boxers. Brad canted his hips forward slightly and leaned back. One hand ran lightly over the back of Nate’s head. He glanced at Brad’s face and hesitated. Brad’s eyes were bright, his expression hard and intense. No one had ever looked at Nate like that before. It stole his breath.

Lowering his head, Nate pulled Brad’s hardening cock out of his fly and kissed the tip. He tasted the smallest drop of pre-come and licked at the slit. Brad groaned and fisted his hands in the bedclothes on either side of his hips.

Nate parted his lips and wrapped his mouth around Brad’s erection. He slid down the length, pressing his tongue to the fleshy vein on the underside. Pushing down, Nate took as much of Brad’s cock as he could, feeling the head just begin to press toward the back of his throat. He pulled off, sucking on just the tip, and heard Brad suck in a breath through clenched teeth.

Bracing his hands on Brad’s thighs, Nate found a rhythm. He sucked Brad’s erection with a slow, measured pace. He wanted Brad on the edge of arousal, but he didn’t want him to come just yet. Nate had other plans.

As Nate’s lips brushed against the coarse hair at the base of Brad’s cock, he inhaled. Brad’s scent was strong here and Nate’s jaw tightened in response. Each time he pulled back to the head, Nate swept his tongue along Brad’s slit and tasted the salty-sweet flavor of his pre-come.

Brad growled again and his hips pushed up toward Nate. He was breathing harshly through his nose, as if struggling to control his own reactions. Nate didn’t want Brad in control. He wanted Brad desperate and writhing. He wanted Brad so far gone he’d cry out Nate’s name when he came.

Pulling off of Brad’s cock with a wet, popping sound, Nate surged up and pressed Brad back against the bed. He climbed up and settled himself between Brad’s open thighs. Nate pressed their mouths together and kissed Brad hard. He wanted to submerge himself in the taste and scent of Brad; he wanted to feel Brad all around him.

Gauging Brad’s response, Nate pressed his face to the juncture of Brad’s neck and shoulder. He licked at the sweaty skin and felt Brad shiver. “I want to fuck you,” he said quietly, carefully.

Nate felt Brad’s hands on his ass, tugging him closer and pushing their hard cocks together. Brad pushed up into him and circled his hips.

“Will you let me?” Nate asked against Brad’s warm skin. “Do you do that?”

“Not often,” Brad answered and Nate felt the rumble of his answer in his chest, as much as he heard the words. “But I want you to.”

Sitting back on his heels, Nate began to tug at Brad’s trousers, dragging them down over his hips and thighs. Brad helped by shifting backward on the bed until he was free of the last of his clothing. He reached for Nate’s fly and helped him out of his clothes as well.

Brad was glorious naked. He was so tall, had such long expanses of skin on display. Nate ran his hands up Brad’s thighs, over his hips and along his belly and chest. He pressed his face to Brad’s skin and breathed deeply.

“Turn over?” he asked cautiously.

Brad didn’t hesitate. He carefully turned over, belly down on the bed, his chin propped on his folded arms. Nate knelt between his thighs and admired their long length. Brad had a nice, firm ass and Nate gripped it with both hands. He skimmed his palms up the vast expanse of Brad’s back and shoulders. Brad’s skin was warm and smooth beneath Nate’s palms. He felt a tremor run through Brad’s body.

Reaching for the bedside drawer, Nate retrieved the Vaseline. He coated one finger. With his other hand, he gripped Brad’s ass and held him open slightly. Nate pressed his finger to the rim of Brad’s hole. He glanced up and saw Brad, propped on his elbows slightly, head hanging between his shoulders.

“Breathe,” Nate murmured and pushed his finger into Brad’s body.

Brad was tight, but not overly so. Nate’s finger slid inward and Brad moaned softly.

“Okay?” Nate asked, stilling his hand.

“Christ, I’m not a fucking virgin,” Brad said in frustration, rocking backward into Nate slightly.

Nate huffed a quiet laugh. He fucked his finger in and out of Brad, twisting his wrist and spreading the Vaseline. Pulling out, he coated two fingers and carefully pushed them into Brad’s hole.

Brad’s moan was a little louder this time. He flexed his hips and pushed back into Nate a little more strongly. Nate spread the Vaseline inside of Brad’s body, loving the feel of him around his fingers. It was going to feel amazing to have Brad clenching tight around his cock.

Nate slid his fingers free and spread more Vaseline in his palm. He coated his erection generously with the jelly, clenching his jaw against the slick feel of his own hand. Nate used both hands to hold open Brad’s ass. He lined the of his cock up with Brad’s clenching hole and pushed his hips slightly, watching Brad’s body open for him, take him in.

He held Brad steady and slowly pressed into him, shifting so he could rub the small of Brad’s back in soothing circles. Brad hissed then groaned, pushing back into Nate. The muscles in his back and ass flexed as he moved. Nate watched Brad’s hole clench tight around him then loosen.

“Fuck, that looks so hot,” he said on a harsh breath. “You feel so fucking good.”

Nate slowly fucked into Brad until he was buried to the base of his cock. His hips pressed against Brad’s firm ass. Nate shuddered at the feel of Brad’s tight heat surrounding his cock. He felt Brad clench around him and he gasped.

He thrust his hips experimentally a time or two, his cock gliding in and out easily. Pressing closer to Brad, so that his belly was up against Brad’s back, he felt the warmth of his lover seep into him.

He mouthed at the sweat-slick skin at the base of Brad’s neck as he slowly fucked Brad’s ass. Nate slid his hands under Brad’s chest and up over his shoulders. He pressed his mouth to Brad’s neck and found a steady rhythm with his hips. The scent of Brad’s skin and his sweat enveloped Nate. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of Brad’s heat against Nate’s chest and belly, and the way it felt sliding down and around his aching cock.

This is what Nate needed; to be surrounded by all things Brad and to lose himself in it. His brain shut down and all Nate did was _feel_.

Brad shifted beneath him. Nate lifted slightly to give him room. Brad lifted his hips, changing the angle of Nate’s entry and taking him deeper. He propped himself on one elbow and looked at Nate over one shoulder. Nate’s rhythm never faltered as he looked down into Brad’s flushed face.

“Feel good?” Nate asked breathlessly as he pounded into Brad’s ass.

Brad nodded his yes. “You gonna come?”

Nate shook his head. “You first,” he gasped, reaching beneath Brad’s body for his hard cock where it pressed against the bed.

Brad’s eyes snapped shut when Nate curled his fingers around Brad’s erection. He pressed his forehead to the bed and began to breathe harshly as Nate stroked him. He felt Brad rocking beneath him, unsure whether to fuck back into Nate’s cock or forward into his fist.

Nate stroked Brad fast and hard. He felt Brad’s inner muscles clench around him and he kept up the steady pace with his hands.

“Fuck,” Brad whispered harshly.

“Tell me how you like it,” Nate demanded.

“Harder,” Brad bit out.

Nate tightened his grip and Brad stiffened beneath him. He pressed his mouth to the base of Brad’s neck and whispered, “Come for me, Brad.”

Beneath him, Brad stilled. He gave a long, lewd groan and Nate felt Brad’s cock twitch at the same time his inner muscles clenched tight at Nate 's cock.

“Nate!” Brad said, voice torn and desperate.

Nate bit down on his lower lip. That’s exactly what he’d wanted from Brad. He licked at Brad’s sweaty skin then bit down on his shoulder. Nate pulled back and pressed his lips to the spot he’d just bitten and began to chant words of praise and encouragement. He had no idea what he said, Nate just lost himself in the feel of Brad’s body as he came. Nate stroked Brad through his climax, feeling him shudder, his come was hot on Nate’s fingers.

Brad lifted his head and hissed as Nate released his cock. He wrapped his hands over Brad’s shoulders again and once against found his own rhythm.

Nate came inside of Brad with one final, violent thrust. His balls rode high and tightened and Nate felt himself spill. He held Brad’s body tight to his own as he rode out the waves, enjoying Brad’s musky scent.

When his orgasm final relaxed its hold on him, Nate collapsed. He breathed heavily into Brad’s neck. To his surprise, he felt Brad lift a hand and run it over the back of Nate’s head.

“Am I too heavy?” he asked, shocked at the rough sound of his own voice. He didn’t remember shouting when he came.

“No,” Brad said. “I like you there.”

Nate sighed. “Fuck, I don’t want to pull out.”

Brad made no response.

Carefully, Nate eased his softened dick from Brad’s ass. He went into the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water. He returned to the bed and knelt between Brad’s still open legs, watching his own come sliding out of Brad’s stretched hole. Nate circled a finger around the opening. Brad moaned softly, his hips lifting slightly. Nate watched Brad’s muscles tighten. He gently pressed his finger inside of Brad’s still leaking hole. His own come had pooled inside of Brad’s body and now Nate smeared it over his own hand.

Finally, he ran the warm cloth over Brad’s skin, cleaning away sweat and come.

Brad tried to stop him. “You don’t need to do that,” he said. “I can clean myself.”

“I want to,” Nate replied, wiping away the last traces of Brad’s come from the front of his thighs and belly.

When he’d tossed the cloth, Nate returned to the bed. Brad was on his side, head resting on a pillow. Nate lay down on the other pillow, facing Brad.

“Before I leave, I’m giving you my mother’s phone number,” Brad said, bringing a hand up to caress Nate’s face.

“Okay,” Nate replied, waiting to see where Brad was taking them.

“When you get stateside, call her and get my contact information,” Brad said. “I don’t know where I’ll be then, necessarily, but she’ll know how you can get a hold of me.”

“Okay, I will,” Nate agreed readily, heart pounding.

Brad smiled at him. “Good,” he said, closing his eyes. Nate listened to his breathing even out. He reached across Brad to turn out the lamp. In the dark room high above a war-torn city, they slept together peacefully.


	13. Chapter 13

**_Friday, 9 June, 1967_ **

**_Israeli Occupied Jerusalem_ **

  
Brad navigated the Jeep through the streets on the outskirts of Jerusalem while Nate read the morning edition of _Maariv_. The paper said what it had been saying for the last several days: that the Palestinians that were fleeing the cities and villages of Israel’s newly conquered lands were doing so voluntarily. Nate clenched his jaw until it hurt.

He read the lies told in the newspaper because he couldn’t bear to look at the reality as it walked across Israel, in some cases barefoot.

“They’re starting to just discard their possessions along the side of the road,” he heard Brad say as the Jeep slowed to a crawl. Nate glanced over the edge of the paper and saw a sea of refugees parting to let them pass. They were shawl-draped women and clinging children.

Nate swallowed hard. He saw what Brad was talking about; the longer and more arduous the trek became, the more narrow these people’s definition of necessity became, and they began to shed things that had grown too heavy to carry a long distance.

Whatever Israel was telling its people and the world at large, Nate knew the truth; the refugees had been forced from their homes. If the houses hadn’t been outright bulldozed, IDF soldiers or Jewish police had ordered them to leave. Once the occupants were out, the house had probably been looted.

They’d been seeing it everywhere. Nate rushing in to intervene, Brad holding him back.

As if reading Nate’s thoughts, Brad asked, “Are you angry with me, sir?”

“No,” he replied, bringing the newspaper up in front of his face again. It was the truth. Brad had been right to stop. Nate just didn’t like this feeling of impotence.

“Your blue hat isn’t protection anymore, you realize that, right?” Brad pressed. “They killed thirteen peacekeepers in Gaza, Nate. You’re no longer off limits and you’re not invincible, either.”

Nate crumpled the newspaper in frustration and tossed it into the backseat of the Jeep. “I know that, Brad. I’m not angry at you, alright?”

Brad fell silent and Nate wondered for a moment if he’d hurt Brad’s feelings. He rejected the idea. Brad was made of sterner stuff than that.

Brad turned south toward the U.N. compound they’d evacuated only days before. The press of bodies along the road had thinned out before Nate spoke again.

“My one-year contract with the U.N. is up in August,” he heard himself say. “I get thirty days of leave.”

“Yeah, UNEF’s the same,” Brad said.

“I’d already put through my request for another contract before the war started, to be executed when I returned from leave,” Nate explained. “And I’m thinking about asking Patterson to cancel it.”

When they reached the compound, it was obvious it had seen war. Buildings that weren’t leveled showed blast damage. Clothes and other objects were strewn around and Nate knew their billets had been looted. It felt like the final betrayal.

Brad parked the Jeep in front of Government House, which was at least still standing. They set out on foot to locate Godfather and General Bull, finally happening across them at the burned out remains of General Bull’s personal quarters.

“Nothing,” Godfather said as he and the General exited the rubble. “It’s been looted, gutted and burned.”

“Well, there was a war going on,” General Bull said generously.

Nate ground his teeth and glanced at Brad.

“Did you men go inside the HQ?” Godfather asked.

“Not yet, sir,” Nate responded. “We thought we’d go in together.”

The four of them returned to the old, yellow-stoned headquarters building and pushed through the destroyed wooden door. The HQ had been ransacked as well.

Godfather and General Bull examined and took inventory in the administrative offices. Nate and Brad were sent to check on the UNEF offices and the UNTSO radio room.

“It’s a damn good thing we emptied the armory,” Brad observed. “Or we’d have armed half the IDF.”

The UNEF offices had been stripped of all office furniture and supplies. The armory had been blown up to gain access. Nate wondered if the looting had been revenge on the part of the IDF for not finding the weapons. All the offices they checked were in equally bad shape: everything was stripped, stolen or smashed.

Nate knew what they’d find in the radio room before they even reached it. “This isn’t going to be pretty,” he said darkly.

Sure enough, all radios and communications equipment was gone. Stripped and frayed wires sprung out of the walls, mangled antennas lay scattered around the room, and not a single piece of usable equipment was left.

They met up again with the General and Godfather in the courtyard outside of the main entrance.

“Nothing,” Nate said. “They took everything, sirs.”

“That includes our transportation,” said the general, glancing around the nearly ruined compound. “They stole all the drivable vehicles we didn’t take with us.”

“My observers in Gaza have reported seeing the IDF driving around in vehicles marked with U.N.,” Godfather said, his expression angry.

“I’ll go demand everything be returned and that we be allowed to resume our work here in our own HQ,” the general said, turning to walk toward the Jeep where his driver waited.

“Do you think you’ll be successful, General?” Nate asked, although he already knew the answer.

“I always have hope, Lieutenant,” he said as he climbed into the Jeep and was driven away.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Godfather said, heading toward his own Jeep. “You’re done for the night.”

“If it’s alright, sir,” Nate asked, “Sergeant Colbert and I would like to see if anything is left of our billets and possibly recover our possessions. Mostly our uniforms.” Nate was sick of rotating through two hand-washed sets of fatigues. He wanted a completely clean uniform.

“Be careful,” Godfather granted permission with a nod, and then drove away.

As they had suspected, both of their hooches had been thoroughly searched. Personal items lay scattered all through the cottages and the furniture was all missing. Surprisingly, their uniforms were all there, for all that they were spread throughout the rooms.

Stacking their clothes in the rear of the Jeep, Nate sighed. “Well this is a bright spot in what was otherwise a fucked up week.”

Brad chuckled. “Let’s stop in the Old City for dinner before we head back to the hotel,” he suggested.

Nate wasn’t really hungry but he knew Brad would insist. It was easier to agree than to argue with him about Nate’s eating habits. It didn’t hurt that he didn’t want to go back to the hotel and hear whatever new bad news Patterson had about something Israel had done.

Nate took a moment to recognize the irony when they got to the restaurant. He and Brad would be dining an Arab-owned restaurant in the Old City. It was one of the few Arab businesses left standing, and it somehow hadn’t been looted. 

It was filled with Ashkenazi.

The owner had a small black and white television propped on a table and was watching a grainy, rolling picture of a news broadcast in Arabic. Nate thought it was coming out of Cairo but he couldn’t be sure. The broadcast was about Israel’s assault on the Golan Heights.

No one really knew what the hell was going on anymore, including the U.N. Israel had violated the ceasefire. The Security Council was being told that Syria and Israel both were ready to stop hostilities, yet Israel kept marching forward. Jordan was defeated days ago, as was Egypt, but the Egyptians weren’t yet willing to admit it. Syria couldn’t lay down arms unless Israel did and neither party was showing any signs of slowing down.

To Nate, it was all a lost cause. He was just biding his time, waiting to see how it was all going to play out. Nothing he could do would make a difference. For the first time since he’d joined the U.N., he actually felt like a casual, disinterested third party.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Brad said softly from across the table. They’d finished eating and were just sitting drinking mint tea.

“I’ve had a lot to think about and not much to say,” Nate replied honestly. “Sorry if I’ve been bad company.”

“No, your company’s been fine. Just making sure you’re going to make your way through all of this.”

“Thank you,” replied Nate, mustering a smile for Brad.

The restaurant owner suddenly began to wail and shout in Arabic. “Nasser! Nasser, don’t leave us! We need you!”

They got up to look at the television. Brad asked the man what had happened.

“President Nasser has resigned,” he cried. “He has given up the fight.”

“What does that mean?” Brad asked quietly. “Who takes control?”

“His Vice-President is Zakaria Mohieddin, so I would imagine that’s who he’d sign his powers over to,” answered Nate. “Notice though, he’s resigned as President of Egypt, but not as head of the United Arab Republic. We haven’t heard the last of Nasser.”

All around them, the Jewish patrons began to break out in celebration. Nate glanced out the door and saw people had begun taking to the streets. Brad left the restaurant and Nate followed.

Outside, boys ran through the streets beating on kettles. People began filing into the non-kosher cafes still open on the Sabbath, seeking to celebrate with one another. The crowd was happy and joyous.

“They’re going to do it,” Brad mused. “Before anyone can get Syria and Israel to agree on a new cease-fire, Israel is _going_ to secure the Golan Heights.”

“Yes. They will,” Nate felt his dark mood settle over him more heavily.

“If Israel holds all the bargaining chips, the U.N. isn’t going to be able to make them give back any of the land they took, is it?” asked Brad.

Nate suspected he knew the answer but just wanted to keep Nate engaged. “No. No, they won’t.” He sighed. “Let’s head back to the hotel. I’m sure Godfather and Captain Patterson will have something to say about this.”

Nate followed in Brad’s wake as he pushed his way through the jubilant crowd.


	14. Chapter 14

**_Saturday, 10 June, 1967_ ** __

_**Israeli Occupied Jerusalem** _

 

“General Bull is being generous but Godfather thinks Moshe Dayan is a dishonest motherfucker who stalled for time so Israeli forces could wrap up their stealing of the Golan Heights.” Godfather himself made this pronouncement as he paced the room still being used as the UNTSO HQ. Israel had denied General Bull permission to return his staff to Government House.

“Did they finally meet?” Nate asked, his stomach knotted in anticipation. They were so close to a complete cease-fire, if Israel would just quit jerking everyone around.

“General Bull went to meet Minister Dayan at the location Dayan had named, only to find Dayan wasn’t there.” Godfather was still pacing. “It took him another hour to pin Dayan down and meet up with him at a completely different location. But yes, Lieutenant, they met at 1500 hours this afternoon. General Bull set the time of the ceasefire in the Golan Heights for 1800 hours this evening.”

“Now, we wait,” Patterson said.

Nate was about leave the room with Brad, both preferring to wait in the quiet of their hotel room, when Patterson called out.

“Staff Sergeant Colbert,” he said, “A word please? Nate, you can come, too.”

“Yes, sir,” Brad said, spine stiff. Nate felt the tension rolling off of him.

He knew he was tense as well. They both knew what this was about. They’d been dreading it, for all they knew it was inevitable.

“Sergeant, you and your Marines are out of here tomorrow morning,” Patterson announced with a tone of finality. “Tell everyone to pack up their shit and be at the airport at 1100 hours tomorrow for transport leaving at noon.”

“Aye aye, Skipper,” Brad replied with more ease than Nate felt. He admired that about Brad.

Patterson held out his hand for Brad to shake. “It’s been an honor and a privilege.”

“Thank you, sir. For me as well.”

“They’re sending you all back to the States so they can sort you out for re-deployment. Do you know what you want to do next? You’d be wasted in South-East Asia.”

“I’d like to stay with the UN, sir. There are a few conflicts around the world where I might be of use.”

“Without a doubt. How does UNMOGIP sound? I can put in a good word for you. They could use someone solid with a working knowledge of Arabic.”

“Keeping an eye on India and Pakistan, huh? Not unlike the powder keg here, is it?” Brad asked with a smile.

“Never a dull day, I hear.” Patterson returned his smile. “If you want to go, let me know. See if you can get Lt. Fick to go with you.”

“Sir?” Nate asked, confused. He hadn’t yet asked the Captain to cancel his request for an extension.

“Come on, Nate, I see it in your eyes. You’re done here. I was hoping to get you through your leave in August and have you come back ready to go. You’re not coming back, though.”

“No, sir,” Nate confessed. “I was going to speak to you about canceling my extension.”

“Consider it done. Now, you two get out of here. Do whatever it is you do when you’ve been through a war with someone and then have to go your separate ways.”

Nate pushed his way into their hotel room. He didn’t know what to do so he started to strip off his uniform. He had things he wanted to say to Brad: remember me … wait for me … but Nate couldn’t form the words.

He was down to his uniform trousers when he finally turned toward Brad and found him stripping down, too. If this was going to be his last night with Brad, Nate was going to make it memorable. What he really hoped was that it would give them both something to hang on to until they were together once again.

Nate crossed the room in just a few short strides and grabbed Brad’s shoulders. He tugged him in and pressed their mouths together. Brad’s arms went around Nate and he could feel Brad’s fingers dig painfully into the muscles of his back.

“This is goodbye,” Nate whispered against Brad’s lips.

“No,” Brad said firmly. He pivoted them so Nate’s back was to the bed and gave a firm push.

Nate tumbled onto the bed and looked up at Brad in surprise. Brad dropped down to cover Nate’s body with his own.

“Never goodbye,” Brad murmured into the side of Nate’s neck. “Just until we’re together again.”

Nate vigorously nodded his understanding and his agreement, words escaping him at that moment. He pulled Brad’s mouth back to his own and kissed him deeply, letting his actions speak for him for now.

Brad sat up and reached for Nate’s trousers. He stripped them off him roughly. Together they struggled to push Brad’s trousers over his hips and off his legs. Finally, they were both naked and lying with their heated skin pressed together at several points.

Nate pressed his lips to the skin just below Brad’s collarbone and drew it into his mouth. He felt the heat of Brad’s blood rise to the surface. Releasing it, Nate saw the dark circle begin to form and he smiled to himself in triumph.

Brad’s hands on his shoulders pushed Nate into the bed. Brad eased down over him and placed hot, open mouthed kisses along his chest. Reaching Nate’s ribs, Brad sank his teeth into the tender skin. Nate gasped at the pleasant sting. Brad sucked hard and Nate writhed at the sensation.

Glancing down the length of his own body, Nate watched Brad lick a wet path down his belly until he could slide his mouth around Nate’s cock. Nate groaned at the wet heat, running his palms over Brad’s shoulders. Too soon, Brad released Nate and instead, pressed his mouth to his inner thigh. He sucked hard and raised a deeply colored mark on Nate’s skin.

Brad surged up and Nate arched into his heat as it settled over him.

“I wanna fuck you like this,” Brad said against Nate’s jaw.

Nate had never been face-to-face while fucking. He wanted to, though. He wanted to see the emotions on Brad’s face when they came together. “Yeah, like this is good.”

Brad shifted so he could retrieve the Vaseline from the night table. Nate sat up and pressed his chest to Brad’s back. He kissed his way down Brad’s long spine. Low on his ribs, Nate pressed his open mouth to the slick skin and sucked it past his lips. He felt the blood-heat under his tongue. Releasing Brad’s flesh, Nate flicked his tongue over the darkening mark and felt Brad shiver.

Nate lay back down as Brad came back with the Vaseline. He spread his legs, expecting Brad to settle between them. Instead, Brad lay down beside Nate and reached his hand between Nate’s thighs. Nate gasped and moaned as Brad lightly stroked his cock, then reached lower to cradle his balls. Nate wrapped his fingers around Brad’s skull and held on to him as Brad reached down and circled Nate’s hole.

Brad glanced between them and located the tub of petroleum jelly. Nate watched at Brad pried the lid open with one hand. He reached in and coated two fingers with the Vaseline before reaching between Nate’s thighs once again.

As Brad’s first finger slid into him, Nate watched his face closely. Brad’s eyes were shining and were bluer than Nate ever remembered seeing them. Nate didn’t dare look away as Brad slid a second finger into him and twisted slightly to spread the Vaseline. Nate gasped at the intrusion and shivered at the stretch.

“Okay?” Brad asked, a small frown forming between his brows as his eyes continued to roam Nate’s face.

“Yeah,” Nate panted, pushing against Brad’s hand.

Brad added more Vaseline to his fingers and pressed three up into Nate’s body. Nate moaned and his eyelids fluttered but he forced them to stay open, his eyes locked on Brad’s.

“Christ, it’s so hot and tight inside of you,” Brad breathed against Nate’s lips.

The heat in Brad’s eyes made something twist painfully in Nate’s chest. He suddenly needed to hide from Brad, wondering what was showing on his own face. Nate pressed their mouths together and finally let his eyes fall shut.

Brad’s fingers slid out of Nate’s hole. Nate made a disappointed sound into Brad’s mouth. The sound became a drawn out moan when Brad took Nate’s ball sac in his palm and caressed it roughly. Brad wrapped his hand around Nate’s erection and began to stroke.

Nate’s balls tightened and he realized what Brad was doing. He gripped Brad’s wrist with one hand.

“No,” he gasped, “not yet. I want you in me.”

Brad’s arms came around him and pressed their chests together. He kissed Nate hard, his tongue pushing in deep.

They shifted around each other, awkward in their haste. Brad knelt between Nate’s thighs and began to coat himself with the Vaseline. Nate watched avidly as the dark head of Brad’s cock repeatedly disappeared into his fist and slid out a moment later, shiny and slick.

Brad lined himself up with Nate’s opening and pushed in slow but steady. Nate’s mouth fell open at the feel of being breached but he made no sound. He arched his back and kept his eyes on Brad’s face as he felt Brad’s cock press inward, until he was completely seated. Nate felt Brad’s thighs come to rest against his ass. Reaching up, Nate pulled Brad down for a kiss. Brad rested on his elbows, hovering just above Nate’s body, and began to move. The mark Nate had placed on Brad’s collarbone minutes before was darkening and Nate bit at it lightly. Brad moaned and gave a strong thrust of his hips. Nate groaned at the stretch and the pressure and licked soothingly at the mark he’d left.

Brad’s breath was hot and heavy against Nate’s ear as he thrust hard, in a fast rhythm. Nate had never experienced anything so intimate. Fucking had always been fast and dirty; a way to get off and get back to his life. This was something all together different and he didn’t want to give this up.

Nate grasped Brad’s ass with both hands, encouraging his thrusts and enjoying the feel of Brad’s firm muscles working beneath his palms. Nate dragged his blunt nails up the entire length of Brad’s sweaty back. He wanted to leave more marks; needed to give Brad something to remember him by when he left, even if only for a short while.

“Fuck,” Brad growled into Nate’s ear, his entire body quaking as Nate’s nails scraped up the tight muscles of his back.

Nate wrapped his legs around Brad’s hips and turned his face into Brad’s neck. He breathed deeply of Brad’s scent and his sweat. The smell of their sex was starting to permeate the air. Brad’s belly rubbed lightly against Nate’s cock, keeping it hard and him right on the edge of coming but never quite getting there.

Brad pushed up slightly and reached between their bodies. He grasped Nate’s erection in his still jelly-slicked hand began to stroke in time with the powerful thrusts of his hips. With one hand, Nate gripped Brad’s shoulders, his fingers digging in enough to bruise. Another mark he was leaving behind as a claim on Brad. Nate wrapped his other hand around the back of Brad’s head and held him steady, forcing him to meet Nate’s eyes.

“Christ, you should see yourself,” Brad gasped, amazement and wonder chasing across his features.

Nate choked back a sob as his balls tightened and began to rise toward his body. Brad’s fist on his dick was merciless and Nate was going to come very soon. Affection suffused Brad’s flushed face and Nate wondered what it was Brad could see in his expression. It frightened him down to his very core, how he had come to feel about Brad in so short a time. He didn’t hold it back though. Nate let Brad see how much this all meant.

“Fuck,” Nate growled as his entire body shuddered violently. His orgasm rolled over him in a slow but powerful wave. He felt it build in his spine and roll down though his hips. Nate’s cock pulsed several times and he felt his balls begin to empty themselves. “I’ll miss you,” he gasped, just as the first jet of come erupted from his dick and ran down Brad’s fingers.

He stroked Nate through it. Brad made sounds that were at once encouraging and sympathetic as Nate came, coating Brad’s hand and his own belly and chest in string after string of hot, opaque come. When Nate’s climax released him, he collapsed against the bed, his breath shuddering in his chest.

Brad released Nate’s cock. As Nate watched, Brad lifted his hand to his mouth and licked it clean of Nate’s come. Nate shivered at the site of such an intimacy.

Lowering himself over Nate’s body again, Brad once again began to move. His cock slid easily in and out of Nate’s ass. He circled his hips every few strokes and Nate saw stars as that sweet spot inside of him was pressed and pushed and grazed.

Brad’s rhythm faltered and a shudder ran the entire length of his body. Nate wrapped his arms and legs around Brad, pulled him close and whispered in his ear, “Come inside me. I wanna feel you.”

He’d keep this feeling with him, use it to augment his memories, in the coming weeks after Brad had left and before Nate could leave Jerusalem for good.

“I’m coming,” Brad breathed against Nate’s neck, “I’m fucking coming.”

Nate could feel it. Brad’s large frame shook and his cock in Nate’s ass pulsed several times. Nate was aware of a liquid heat filling him, coating the inside of him. He had a part of Brad inside of him now and it would have to last him until he could get back home.

Brad’s orgasm released him and he collapsed half on top of Nate. He wasn’t nearly as heavy as Nate had thought he’d be. It felt good to have Brad on top of him like this; pressed together at all points and thoroughly fucked out.

Brad’s softened cock eventually slipped out of Nate’s hole. Nate knew he should clean himself up, he just couldn’t get his body to cooperate. Brad settled down beside Nate, pressing himself close. Nate was pinned when Brad tossed on arm over his chest. He turned his face into Brad’s where is pressed into his sweaty hair.

“Before I leave,” Brad said in a rough voice, “tell me how to contact your family when I get home. I’ll let them know you’re okay here. If I don’t hear from you by the first week of August, I’ll call them to see if they’ve heard about a delay or anything.”

Nate bit down on his lower lip at what amounted to Brad’s commitment to keep this going once they were home. He didn’t trust himself to speak so Nate simply nodded.

Brad was warm and Nate was relaxed. Despite what he’d thought would be a sleepless night in face of Brad’s imminent departure, Nate drifted easily into a peaceful sleep.

 **~*~  
 _  
Sunday, 11 June, 1967  
_** **  
_Israeli Unified Jerusalem_  
**

  
Brad had a duffel slung over his shoulder as they walked down the corridor. “You’ve got my Mom’s address and phone number, right?” Nate asked. 

“Yes,” he patted his chest pocket. “I’ll call her as soon as I land. You got my Mom’s info?”

“Yes. As soon as I get Stateside I’ll contact her to find out where you’re stationed.”

“I’m sure it’ll be Pendleton but you never know.”

They entered what had been dubbed the Command Center and found it once again in chaos.

“I’m afraid to ask,” Nate sighted.

“Lieutenant,” Patterson called, “I know you were going to the airport to see Staff Sergeant Colbert off but I need you in the Old City.”

“What did Israel do now?” Nate asked with annoyance.

Patterson’s slight pause was the only reaction to Nate’s uncharacteristic behavior. “Over night, they bulldozed the public toilets and every single Arab house built in front of the Western Wall. They claim the Arabs had all fled voluntarily but an elderly woman was trapped in the rubble. She later died at a hospital. I need you out there.”

“On my way,” Nate said resignedly.

Patterson came over and shook Brad’s hand once again. “Safe trip, Staff Sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They left the room together, for the final time.

“Do you remember how to drive yourself?” Brad asked.

Nate laughed. “Yeah, I think I can manage without you.”

“Be careful, Nate. It’s not safe out there.”

“I know. I have a reason to make it out of here in one piece.”

“I’ll see you in August?”

“Yes. You’ll see me in August.”

Brad held out his hand and Nate took it in a firm grip. Without another word, he turned on his heel and was gone.

Nate refused to look back. He retrieved the Jeep and slid behind the wheel. It felt strange, after all the time Brad had done the driving around Jerusalem. It felt wrong. Nate realized he’d been right to not renew his contract with UNTSO. Things would never be the same here for him; professionally or personally.

He still didn’t know if he wanted to return to school or stay in the Marines, but there was time enough for those decisions about his future. What Nate was sure of, was that his future meant a life with Brad. That was more than he’d ever thought he would or could have.

Nate just had to make it to August. Nearly two months of patrols without Brad. It would never be the same. He put the Jeep in gear and headed for the Old City.

It was the loneliest patrol of Nate’s career.

End.

 

 

Big Bang artwork  
[](http://s664.photobucket.com/albums/vv10/kahtyasofia/Alex/Generation%20Kill/?action=view&current=SixDaysfanmixcover.png)


	15. Chapter 15

** BIBLIOGRAPHY &  
REFERENCES **

** Books **

** Six Days Of War **   
June 1967 and the Making of the Modern Middle East  
by Michael B. Oren

 ** Warriors for Jerusalem **   
The Six Days That Changed the Middle East  
by Donald Neff

 ** 1967 **   
Israel, The War, And The Year That Transformed the Middle East  
by Tom Segev

 ** The Arabs **   
Journeys Beyond the Mirage  
by David Lamb

 ** United Nations **   
The First 50 Years  
by Stanley Meisler

 ** Conduct Unbecoming **   
Gays & Lesbians in the U.S. Military  
by Randy Shilts

 ** The Boy Who Picked the Bullets Up **   
by Charles Nelson

 

 **Videos **

[ Battlefield Detective – 1967 Six Day War ](http://youtu.be/E63AKJpa1Tk)

[](http://youtu.be/H6ZCGoW4F3Q)

[ A Walk Through the Old City of Jerusalem ](http://youtu.be/H6ZCGoW4F3Q)

[Jerusalem, Old City – Walking Tour ](http://youtu.be/J42Qh7VMQW8)  


[1967 Jerusalem](http://youtu.be/15YesIVc5FM)

[Jerusalem 1967 – English](http://youtu.be/j1vl1AlRYgA)

[6 Day War Israel-Palestine](http://youtu.be/nLVoSdg_AE8)  
Observers watched Israel provoke Syria in the Golan with fortified tractors

[Israeli attack on USS Liberty ](http://youtu.be/fRZSzdQuOqM)  
While the attack happened as described in this video, the conspiracy theory portion is highly suspect.

[](http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/films/stonewall/)

[ Stonewall Uprising on PBS American Experience ](http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/films/stonewall/)

[Gay Sex in the 70’s ](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0455953/) ****

 

 **Photos**

[UN archive photos of UNEF](http://unmultimedia.org/photo/detail.jsp?id=121/121309&key=0&query=organization:UNEF AND date:\[1956-11-01 TO 1967-06-01\] AND category:)

[ UN archive photos of UNTSO](http://unmultimedia.org/photo/detail.jsp?id=703/70323&key=0&query=untso&lang=&so=0&sf=date)

[ A general photo archive for the city of Jerusalem ](http://www.jerusalemshots.com/en)

 


End file.
